Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero
by Nymbis
Summary: Three tied to the Atrox: a Follower, a servus, and the one destined to rule the shadows, are liberated from all they’ve ever known. Can they honor Serena’s sacrifice? Or will they return to their inner darkness? Side Story. Zahi. Art. Trysten.
1. Prolog: Beautiful

_Night's Children: Dum spiro, spero._

_While I breathe, I hope._

**AN:** I got a few people who were interested in a Trysten, Lance, and Art centric fic, and I wanted to write one, so there ya go. This takes place some twenty odd years before _Night's Children,_ set in the time of the current Daughters of the Moon (Jimena, Serena, Catty, Vanessa, Tianna) As far as updates are concerned, I'm planning to alternate between one update for this fic, and one update per regular _Night's Children _book.

I decided to post this early as an 'I'm sorry' for how long the next chapter of _Nox Noctis _is taking. If you have any ideas/suggestions PLEASE email or message me as I've got major, icky writer's block. Anyways, enjoy the side story!

_Italics _is telepathy/thoughts.

_Summary: _Three tied to the Atrox; a Follower, a servus, and the one destined to rule the shadows, are liberated from all they've ever known. Can they honor Serena's sacrifice? Or will they return to their inner darkness? You've seen them in _Night's Children, _now Art, Lance, and Trysten have their own story to tell.

_Disclaimer: _I took some lines from the books for the prologs, but I've added and extended scenes so that it's not blatant, out-right plagiarism. It's more like subtle plagiarism. I swear, I wouldn't take lines right out of the book if it wasn't important to the plot, so I hope you all can look passed that.

_Prolog_

**Part One: Beautiful**

_-Id quod factum est, infectum esse potest._ _What has been done, can be undone.-_

**-o-**

_Push her._

Patience, she will go in on her own.

_Push her now._

I don't want to push her. She will go in on her own.

_Her resolve is faltering, she is hesitating. Push her._

What difference will it make if we wait?

_She is stalling for time. She is lying, waiting for her precious sisters. Push her._

I don't understand-

_I claimed her. She is mine. Push her._

There's no reason-

_You are mine as well. I control you. Push her, or I will cause you pain. I will make you get on your knees and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. I will make you wish you were never born. I own you; I own every fiber of your being. Push her._

All right.

The young girl stood in front of the tall blazing flames whose image betrayed the fact that they were ice cold. Small, crystalline patterns formed on the ground surrounding it. There were several of his Followers watching him and the goddess, the Daughter of the Moon, with profound interest.

The girl's name was Serena, and she was _Lecta._ The Atrox had made its claim on her, and she could not fight it forever. Observing her in the dark of night, she looked ethereal, something above and beyond anything human. Her emerald eyes glinted in the freezing lights, looking similar to a cat's. Her dark hair was flowing freely in the wind, wrapping around her head and concealing the rest of her face except for those damnable eyes.

She was beautiful.

In a few moments, she would be terrible.

A part of him, the part that was still good and not yet tainted by the Atrox inside of him, had felt overwhelming pity for this girl when he had first met her. She was so lovely, graceful, but most of all lonely. Everyone except for the other Daughters seemed to fear her, no one truly taking the time to understand her.

The Atrox had assigned him to get close to her, but under false pretenses.

He was an Immortal, a leader of a band of rogue Followers. He was respected, and more importantly, feared. It was he, and a rival, that imbecile Stanton, who were assigned to deliver the Key to the Atrox. Fortunately for him, he was better at mind manipulation than Stanton, and he was able to erase all of Serena's memories of her 'beloved' _Invitus._ It made the capture all too easy. He had given her what she wanted, a friend, someone to actually listen to her, someone to lean on. And in return, she was mere inches from the fire and coincidentally his spot in the _Incinti. _He had molded his personality into that of an artistic outcast, to create a feeling of kinship between them.

The part of him, the good part, which was slowly dying, felt overwhelming guilt for manipulating such a radiant creature like he had. That small part was being squashed by the Atrox, lust for power filling up the space compassion had once filled, his conscience crushed by darkness.

He sneered in pure, unadulterated hate as he walked up to her. His boots moved rapidly across the ground of the Tar Pits, his thick soles crushing the ground underneath him.

He ripped the talisman of Selene away from her chest. His dark eyes narrowed into slits, and he ran a hand through his near-black hair. She had to enter that fire; she had to greet Hell with open arms. It was what his master wanted; it was what his corrupted side wanted. There was no more time to waste, she was hesitating, and he didn't need to read her mind to figure out that she was waiting on the other Daughters.

He placed his heavy hands on each of her shoulders, enjoying the way her eyes lit up in terror as she watched his turn into the phosphorous yellow of the Followers. He gingerly shifted his weight, and with a small push, the graceful goddess tripped and fell into the accursed flames.

He could hear her take a sharp intake of breath, could feel her surprise echo through his mind as she fell into the _Frigidus Ignis_, could feel her fear.

"_Lecta_." He breathed, knowing he had accomplished the task set out for him.

He allowed a triumphant smile to cross his face. He had served his Master well, he would be proud of him, for the goddess was now transforming into the goddess of the witches.

She stood up in the inferno, the flames licking at her as they tried to consume her mortality. Her eyes were horrified, yellow edges creeping up on the green in her iris, and her moon amulet, lying on the ground, was glowing brighter than a star. She writhed in pain, for everyone knew she did not want this.

That tiny voice inside hated the person he had become. It thought he was disgusting for destroying a girl for power.

But then something unexpected had to happen, something that was not a part of his plan. A frost-coated arm reached out from the abyss, coated in crystalline patterns and slightly blue, and grabbed onto his own arm.

Raw, pure dread filled him then. What was she doing? Her grip didn't falter, cold and clammy, as she began to drag him into the Cold Fire. His heels dug into the ground, his face became a vision of alarm. He didn't want to go in, he never wanted to go in ever again. Couldn't she sense that?

An icy breeze wafted through his hair, the tip of his nose became covered with the light ice, his toes caught an edge on the outskirts of the fire, and in he went.

The blaze around him shivered in anger, as if the Atrox had discovered what had happened to one of its most favorite Followers. The air became too chilly to breathe, choking him as he struggled to claw himself away from this hell.

The darkness inside of him was being ripped away, burnt to ash by the Atrox's own flames. He had to escape; this would surely kill him.

But Serena's grip was strong for a girl of her size; she wrapped her arms around him in an almost comforting, albeit tight, embrace. He struggled; didn't she see what he was doing? The pain was unbearable, the liquid fire burning him from the inside out.

Then he heard those beautiful, horrible words.

"_Id quos factum est, infectum esse potest." _Serena's voice, clear and pure, was echoing through his mind in the stillness of the night.

At those words of Hecate, his soul felt as if it were being ripped in two. The darkness that the Atrox owned was dissolving, being wrenched away from his core, as his fraction of light stayed anchored inside of him. It was torture, and all he could do was scream the word, "No!" until his voice was raw.

The blaze reacted similar; it swayed and shifted colors as if it possessed the human emotion of anger. It wrapped tightly around him, trying to keep him for itself, it did not want to relinquish its power.

"What has been done can be undone!" Serena declared, her embrace tightening around him tighter than the fire's.

And then, as if in one final exhale, the darkness surrendered, leaving him all alone with the small portion of light that was left in his soul. The pain ceased, and he felt lighter than he could ever remember being. He was sure he had died, and that death had finally given him the inner tranquility that his heart had desperately been seeking.

But his revelation was disrupted when he felt a soft, small hand grasp his gently. The hand belonged to the girl, and she seemed to be inspecting for something. He grew confused, _an angel?_

Yet this was not a merciful angel. As soon as she had seen what she was looking for, she shoved him away from her.

He tumbled out of the fire, gasping for air. He felt the other voice's absence, and he would have wept in relief had he not felt totally drained. Two strong arms grabbed him as he fell from the inferno, and he sagged against them.

He lifted his heavy-lidded eyes to the night sky, where thousands of stars twinkled in the darkness. Their light illuminated the moonless night. He allowed himself a small, grim smile.

"Beautiful," Zahi whispered.


	2. Prolog: Radiance

_**Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero**_

**AN: **Once again, I used some lines from book 11: The Prophecy, which all belongs to The Master Ewing. Seriously, if she were a Jedi, there's no doubt she'd be on the Council.

Feedback appreciated!

_**Prolog:**_

Part Two: Radiance 

_**-memento vivere**_

A reminder of living- 

He remembered the first time he had ever seen a Goddess. He had been so young then, naïve, and constantly terrified.

The boy had been enslaved ever since birth, working in the manor of a notorious _Incinti _member, the Lord who went by no name. Yet he was fortunate to be a house servant, as opposed to a field worker, and this lucky occurrence boiled down to one aspect, his lack of physical strength. He had been rather sickly looking back when he had been given to the Nefandus _servi_ traders, thin and pallid, one who would be of no use with the manual labor that seemed to be never ending in the world of shadows. As the Atrox and its Followers hated to waste their merchandise, rather than being put to death, he was assigned the more lenient task of running the nameless Lord's home.

He remembered when he had first met the Lord; he had been tall, imposing, and mysterious. He had looked at him in terror, having the knowledge instilled into his mind that he was not in the home of the kindest of Followers. When he had asked with an innocent curiosity that only a child could have what his Lord's name was, he had been beaten and commanded to never ask again. The Lord would never commit a human atrocity such as naming, it was beneath him, and it beseeched his honor to even suggest he needed one.

The boy was needed only to make the Lord's guests comfortable, and eventually as he grew older, to serve as a messenger between the Lord and other members of the Atrox. After all, messengers had a high expectancy of getting killed when delivering bad news, and he was expendable.

And for five years, that was exactly what the boy did. He bowed, used honorific titles, and minded his own affairs. He stayed out of everyone's way, and knew when not to speak or be noticed. He became a master at servitude. His life was an endless series of avoiding those above his station. Monotonous, soul-crushing work such as sweeping or cleaning became his existence. He was a faceless subordinate of evil.

Yet one night, and he remembered it well, that all changed. It had started out simply enough, all except for the factor that the Lord had been acting antsy lately. He would constantly pace about the manor's floors, mumbling something incoherent, irrationally striking out in anger to the poor soul who dared disturbed him.

The boy knew enough to avoid the Lord when he was in one of these moods, for if someone irritated him in the slightest, they would immediately be sent to the labor pits, or worse, the coliseums of Nefandus. It was wise for the small ten year old to make himself scarce, for he stood no chance of survival in either scenario.

But Fate has a cruel sense of irony, and the Lord requested him to come to his chambers on that unfortunate night.

So there he was, his thin, chapped hands rubbing together in anxiety as fear filled him. The boy was close to tears, for this would not result well for him. The fact that the Lord was in a foul mood and had just ordered for an imp of no special importance to come to his chambers only meant one thing: that the boy was to become an outlet for his frustrations.

His bare feet trudged slowly over the dirty cobblestones of the Manor, and he passed several other _servi,_ who sent him a look of pity. His eyes kept racing around the hall, trying to find a method of escape before he reached the Lord's room. Unfortunately, there was none, and he soon found himself standing in front of an ornate wooden door that belonged to the Lord's quarters.

He tensed, wondering if it was too rude to knock.

_Enter._ Rang a strict voice in his mind, which could only have fit the Lord.

He was once again about to weep, but he swallowed and gently eased open the heavy door.

As soon as the boy entered, he got down on his knees and pressed his forehead against the spotless floor, averting his gaze from the room or the Lord. "My Lord." He whispered politely, and then he fell silent, waiting to be addressed.

"Boy," Spat the Lord from nearby, his deep voice ringing through the boy's ears. The boy could hear his footfalls, as he got closer to him, "A very important visitor will be arriving this night, a girl. I demand that you escort her and her companion into the main Greeting Hall once she arrives."

"Whatever you wish my Lord," He answered automatically, hope pulsing inside of him. Perhaps he would not be tortured or beaten to relieve his Lord's frustrations?

"That is not all." He continued, starting to pace in front of the kneeling slave, "This girl is a prime target of the _Incinti._"

The boy's eyes widened, angering the _Incinti_ was akin to signing a death warrant.

"More than likely, the members already know of her impending visit." The Lord continued, "And because of this, they more than likely will be sending Regulators to my Manor."

The boy swallowed, trying to quell his fears and not appear weak in front of his Lord. Weak servants were easily disposed of.

"If this happens to occur, _you _will be in charge of aiding her in escape. There is a secret panel located in the East Wing, which has a spring that is activated by hitting the baseboard molding, this will open a wall to reveal a staircase which in turn will lead down to the street." He cleared his throat, "I hope you are paying close attention."

"Yes my Lord."

"Good. Understand that if she is captured, you will be sent immediately to the coliseums."

The boy repressed yet another shiver, "Of course my Lord."

"I have no further use for you. Dismissed." He spat, turning away from him.

The boy quickly left the rooms, stumbling slightly on his way out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Four hours later, the boy felt an unfamiliar presence filling him as he walked towards the servant's quarters. It gripped his chest and he halted in his step, fear making his movements rigid. The guest! The guest was here! His Lord was calling for him.

The sound of his baggy pants slapping against his legs and his barefooted footsteps were the only noises heard in the hall as he rapidly made his way to the entrance hall.

He stopped immediately, pausing to catch his breath in front of the heavy, polished oak doors. He stepped to a side closet, withdrawing a fine red robe that the Lord had prepared for the guest's arrival. His face brightened a notch; perhaps if he did this service well, the Lord would possibly reward him? He gently set the cloak on a long bench.

A heavy knocking was heard from the outside, and the designs inside the stained glass windows of the door shifted to reveal who was waiting outside. The boy tensed, this was his moment. He would open the door, he would be polite and courteous, and he would please his master and avoid a beating.

He opened the door slowly, and without looking at who was behind it, he spoke as calmly as he could, so they wouldn't be able to sense his fear. "Please, come in." He then delicately gestured them inside.

It was at that moment that he looked up and saw his guests. He had to physically refrain himself from his jaw dropping at the first guest. One of the renegade _servi_ stood before him, tall and imposing. His hair and eyes were dark, and he had an uneasy feeling about him. The boy made a face; _this _was the person the Lord was so eager to see? A lowly _servus_?

But when the boy stepped aside, the boy began to see what the Lord was so eager to protect. Behind him was a girl, but the boy could already tell it was no ordinary girl. Although he wasn't old enough to start seeing girls in an attractive manner, something about her drew him in. She seemed to glow positively radiant in the dark world of Nefandus, and her eyes were the same color as the Lord's. She had the same commanding presence of him as well, but instead of frightening it was welcoming. She reminded him of a mother he never had, or an older sister. Despite the fact that her clothing was mud splattered and rather revealing, she seemed like a…

His throat tightened when he realized what exactly it was that she seemed like.

A Goddess.

His eyes went to the shining amulet on her chest, a moon that was glowing with a milky white light. He tore his eyes away, after the renegade _servus _gave him a look, and started towards the bench. He humbly offered the cloak to the girl.

Her reaction confused him. She looked at her clothing and then blushed furiously.

The man with her smiled, "I guess your father has certain rules about modesty."

The boy's eyes widened. He hadn't meant it to be insulting! He turned scarlet in shame, she would think ill of him now and tell the Lord. He swallowed and draped the silky material about her shoulders carefully, hoping to win some good points. He looked her over quickly and nodded to himself. Yes, the Lord would be pleased.

He turned around quickly; hoping he would not disgrace himself further, and led them to the room the Lord had instructed him to lead them to. He opened the double doors and the brass hinges creaked. The pair quickly stepped inside.

The boy watched the rather confusing exchange between the Lord and his daughter. The Lord was being kind; that was not like him at all. He stood in the shadows, waiting until he would have to escort the girl to the outside. He was neither acknowledged nor heard throughout the exchange, and he was thankful.

The time he was prepared for happened more quickly than the boy had originally thought. In a mere matter of minutes, Regulators emerged from the Lord's fireplace, their rotting hands outstretched towards the Goddess.

The boy repressed a gag; the Regulators had always disgusted him, with their slimy, decomposed features and the perpetual stench that surrounded them. One of them wrapped its hand around the Goddess's wrist, and she struggled against him for a moment and then broke free.

The renegade _servus_ yelled something at her that the boy didn't quite catch, as all his attention was diverted. His eyes watched his Lord, waiting for the signal. The Lord gave the tinniest of nods, and the boy ran into action.

His grubby little hand clasped the forearm of the Goddess, and she recoiled slightly at his clammy touch. She looked at him in confusion, and he tried to muster a smile but realized that the years of being forbid to express any emotion had taken a toll on him and he couldn't, all he could form was some half-grin. For some reason his inability to smile ashamed him, so he lowered his eyes and looked away from her.

He led her robotically throughout the hallways of the manor, just as the Lord had instructed him. When they reached the beginning of the narrow stairway in the secret passageway, he could feel her hesitate, "Come." He commanded, digging his fingers into her arm, trying to force her down so she could be safe.

"Do you know how to get out of Nefandus?" She asked, and the boy could hear the fear crawling into her voice. The boy couldn't blame her; the Regulators could inspire terror in the bravest of men.

The boy nodded, hoping he looked like someone she could trust. It must have worked, as she slowly began to descend the stairs with him. He reluctantly loosened his grip for a moment to open the door that would lead to the streets. He congratulated himself inwardly, for everything was going perfectly smooth.

The Goddess gave him a genuine smile of gratitude, and the boy felt something flutter within him. He had helped! He had done his job well, and now The Lord might forgive all past transgressions. The boy let go of the Goddess, and she stepped out into the street.

As ordered, the boy then quickly shut the door behind her, and returned to his master.

He was in the exact same place as he had been, sitting in a chair before an unlit fireplace. The renegade _servus_ was gone now, and the boy bowed once again, waiting to be acknowledged.

"She escaped?" The Lord asked.

"Yes, my Lord." The boy responded.

"Go now."

And that was all that was said. The boy's face fell slightly. He had been hoping for some show of thanks, but then he mentally berated himself for that line of thinking. Who was _he_ to expect such thanks? He was worthless.

The Lord was cold and untouchable, why had he even thought he would be commended for a fraction of a second? The Lord felt no feelings whatsoever; certainly gratitude was a foreign concept to him.

As he began to head back to his room, his feet cold from the stone floors, his thoughts trailed to the Goddess and even to the renegade _servus._ They were both so unlike his Lord. They had seemed happy, or at least they both seemed like they could be happy. The Goddess had even been able to smile, a true, real smile. She had shown him appreciation and kindness, whereas the Lord had only demonstrated cruelty and disgust. _She_ had been able to give him a gift, her radiant smile.

The boy then promised himself that one day he would be able to smile like that. One day he would give others radiance to lighten their dark days.

One day, he would be free.


	3. Prolog: Wish

**AN: **I know, I know, I was supposed to update _Nox Noctis _first but I'm having problems with it so I thought I'd do this first if it makes you feel better, I have half (11 pages) of the next chap done so it shouldn't be _too _long. Sorry for making you wait! Here's the final prolog, enjoy!

_Prolog_

**Part** **Three**: Wish

_**-Cineri gloria seravenit**_

Glory comes too late to the dead.- 

It was supposed to be a happy occasion. A time where all couples celebrate and rejoice proudly over their accomplishment. It should have been a time for love, compassion, and most of all hope.

So why was it that the new mother and father were crying?

The woman, a girl really, sat hunched over in her hospital bed, her hands effectively shielding her face as she violently sobbed. Clad in only a hospital gown, and obviously overstressed, she seemed inconsolable. Her pretty green eyes were reddened by tears, and her once luxurious dark hair was now in a disarray of tangles. Her complexion, normally tanned from the days of being a beach bum, was pale from the loss of blood. Her lower lip had become cracked, and she had a most miserable expression on her face.

The man next to her was more stoic in his grief. He sat beside her, a heavy hand on her back, trying to support his distraught beloved. His eyes were an eerie shade of blue, but they looked empty, hollow. His gaze stared blankly at the doorway, and his mouth was pressed in a grim line. Tears also streamed down his face, albeit silently. The man was obviously trying to remain strong for appearance's sake, but was also miserably failing.

The seconds ticked by, the tic of the hand moving on the clock the only other noise besides the girl's crying. It resonated, a hollow sound filling the room, and the man clenched his fist tightly, blanching his knuckles. The girl looked up, her eyes meeting the man's.

Her voice was strained, "Why did it have to be a boy?" She whispered, her words saddened. "Why?"

The man only shook his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She breathed in, wheezing slightly, "It knows. Of course it knows, it has to know, it knows everything," She was beginning to ramble, "It was willing to overlook our escape if it was a girl, but now that it knows it's a boy…" Her voice trailed off as she gripped the man's hand tightly, although he didn't seem to mind.

"The Atrox has an heir." The man whispered, cradling his woman close to him, "It will be coming for us next. You know this, don't you?"

She nodded numbly, "It will be coming for our son." She faltered and began to cry once again.

She bundled the folds of his shirt in her small fists, burying her head in his chest, trying to forget all the thoughts that were flooding into her. Her breathing became rasps, but the father clung onto her just as tightly, mumbling nothings into her ear.

"Is this a bad time?" Came a falsely sympathetic voice from the doorway.

The distraught pair looked at a young nurse, her hair done up carefully in a no-nonsense bun, she was leaning in the doorway, her fist raised as if to knock. But it wasn't her that the couple was watching intently; it was the small blue bundle she held in her arms.

The man swallowed hard, more fear than he had ever known in his entire life filling him at seeing the small baby, his son. He could feel the mother stiffen under his embrace.

"N-now is fine," She mumbled, pulling away slightly from him.

The man said nothing, his gaze leveled at the newborn, his mouth hanging open slightly.

The nurse sauntered over carefully, keeping a watchful eye on the man, quivering slightly as she passed him. She reached the bundle gingerly over to the girl, "Congratulations, Ms. Killingsworth, you're a mother now."

She carefully handled the bundle, cradling it. All of her tears dried up as soon as she gazed at the boy's face. He was cleaned up now, the blood gone and now she could see his healthy pink skin. A look of awe graced her features; this was her _son._ A product of her and the man sitting beside her, he was a living, breathing symbol of their love.

He wasn't crying like most newborns. His eyes were sluggishly open, the same shade of blue all newborns had. His skin was still stained red, and wrinkly looking. His small arms flailed about self-consciously, thin and horribly frail. A mat of hair that looked to be a shade of reddish-brown was plastered to his skull. She rocked it slowly against her, and the baby seemed to impossibly coo in delight at being held by its mother.

The nurse watched the couple, a heart-warming feeling encompassing her just like it had all other times when she had witnessed a new mother and baby truly bonding for the first time. She stepped away silently, and gently closed the door, allowing the new parents some time alone.

The man sat there, seemingly frozen. The emotions that he felt in his chest as his beloved Serena held their child ashamed him, but they still remained. The Atrox would quite possibly eradicate this weak looking thing, there was no use getting attached to it.

"Want to hold him?" She whispered, shifting him and holding the baby so it faced its father.

"No." He answered truthfully, shirking away from it. That stupid thing that would eventually cause his and his lover's death. He wished it didn't exist.

"Please?" Serena begged, her lower lip quivering in remorse at his rejection, "For me?" She pleaded pathetically.

He turned to her and his stony reserve melted when he saw the utter hopeless look on her face. Her eyes glowed yellow slightly from the outside, where the full moon was shining brightly, and she was beginning to shake in grief once again. The small blue bundle outstretched to him. He couldn't bear putting her through any more despair, even if he knew this was the last thing he should be doing, "For you." He mumbled begrudgedly, gently picking up the squirming little thing.

She gave a shaky smile in response, "Thank you."

He grunted and looked at the thing. The baby's face grew twisted, uncomfortable being away from its mother. It turned its eyes up and lay eyes upon his dark father for the first time…

The newborn than began to wail, its mouth opened and his face reddening.

The man looked at the thing in loathing, but catching a glance at Serena, he decided to not throw it back at her as his impulse had directed. He pressed it against his shoulder, awkwardly patting it on the back, "Shut up." He bit out.

As if in response to this, the baby began to cry harder.

He sighed and blew some of his fine blonde hair out of his eyes, "_Please _shut up." He tried again.

Again, the volume of the sobs increased.

"You're doing it all wrong," Serena said gently, taking her boy away from his rather irate father, "Love, not force." She gave a grim smile, "He wants comfort right now."

She hummed a low, soft tune, and once again rocked him back and forth. His eyelids began to droop, and soon he fell asleep, "See?" She stated softly, leaning against some of her pillows.

The man didn't reply; his eyes trained on her…his…their son. He was finding it hard to hate the creature when it so _cutely_ snuggled against its mother. That thing was _disgustingly _cute. "You shouldn't get attached." He said darkly.

She stiffened, "I know. I can't help it." She gave another shaky breath, "He's my son, Stanton, _our_ son." She gave him a meaningful glare, "You are his father, after all."

He felt his heart constrict in his chest, "I'm a father." He said mutely.

She nodded, "Yes, you will always be his father."

Yet another uncomfortable silence as the two of them looked at the small boy, sleeping soundly. The lasting knowledge that he would be taken from them shortly echoed in their minds.

"I just wish…he would have been a girl." She admitted, "Then…then he could have been given to Selene."

Stanton inclined his head, "I wish he was born a girl as well," He agreed, "Then he could have been saved." He could feel sorrow bubbling up his throat, "He is destined to follow in my footsteps."

"Damn them," She hissed in an uncharacteristic burst of anger, clenching his hand tightly, "Damn them."

"Yes." He responded.

After another pause, Serena began to gently trace the lines of the baby's face, "What should we name him?" She questioned innocently.

Stanton's eyes widened in horror, "We shouldn't name him anything." He muttered bitterly.

Serena shook her head, adamant, "He is our child, and it is our right to name him." She softened, "I won't ever have another child to name after all."

He exhaled, if it was important to Serena, it was important to him, "If you insist."

Her face acquired a dream-like expression, "I rather like the name Wally."

Stanton snorted, "You named your raccoon that. No son of mine will be named after a raccoon."

Serena's face brightened considerably, "You do care."

He shook his head, "I do not."

She gained a mischievous look to her eye, which nostalgically reminded Stanton of the pre-Atrox Serena, "Then if you truly don't care, I think I will call him Tymmie-"

His face paled.

"-or Karyl."

"No." He said.

She shrugged, "Lambert? That's a rather strong traditional name…" She trailed off.

Stanton clenched his jaw and his eyes were blazing with fury.

She held a thoughtful finger along her chin, "Actually, I _love _the name Zahi," She tilted up the baby so Stanton could get a good look at his face, "Don't you think he looks like a Zahi?"

"Stop it." He demanded rigidly.

"Stop what?" She asked childishly.

Something within Stanton snapped, "Stop trying to make me care about it, it is not our son, it is the Atrox's son." He sneered, "We will die because of him."

Her face fell, "You don't think I know that?" She spat acrimoniously, "How stupid do you think I am?"

"It's not that I think you're stupid-"

She cut him off, "Of course we're going to be hunted down by Regulators and destroyed, and he will eventually fall through the cracks and the darkness will claim him, but can't you _please_ pretend to care?" She lowered her face, "We only have a few moments with our only son. Can't we try to make the most of them?"

Her quiet sobbing was the only sound in the room, and Stanton felt as if his throat had swollen shut. This was killing her, and he could think of no way to comfort or prepare them for their impending doom. There was nothing that could make her feel better, nothing at all.

He ran a hand through his greasy hair, well, nothing except for one thing.

"Trysten." He whispered.

She looked up, her eyes once again red and puffy, "What?" She croaked.

"His name, it should be Trysten."

Her eyes drifted to the boy, "Trysten." She whispered, "I like it." She looked at him again, "Why Trysten?"

"It was one of my brothers' names," He responded, "He died in the second Crusade against the Atrox."

She nodded, "It's a good name." She stated dumbly.

Unable to take it anymore, he enveloped his new family with one arm as he shifted onto the bed, and Serena lay contently against him. He could feel her breathing on his chest, and could sense the vibrations of her heartbeat. His eyes drifted to his son yet again. Their days were numbered, he knew it, but they had the present together.

He would make the most of it.

His gaze remained on his son, as he watched him falling asleep. His small fist was clenched, and Stanton was in awe of him. The baby was untouched, not yet tainted by the Atrox. He had hope. That little baby had more than Stanton could ever wish for.

Stanton and Serena would not survive the month, he was sure of it. But somehow, the thought didn't seem as unappealing as it did moments before. All the two of them could do was wish for a future that may never happen. All they could do was wish to survive another day, wish to see each other yet again in another life. But Stanton already knew that there was only one wish that truly mattered. The wish that someday, somehow, the Atrox would be completely disposed of.

Small Trysten was Serena and Stanton's only wish for that future.

Content with his realization, Stanton once again gripped tightly his lover, and began to drift off into sleep, not knowing if he would ever wake up again.


	4. The Fallen: Pursuit

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

**AN: **This story is going to be comprised of three sections, Part One: The Fallen, Part Two: The Servant, and Part Three: The Prodigy with a three-part epilog (similar to the three-part prolog) and each part is going to have five chapters. It's going to basically cover how the three met and formed a team, and hopefully it will give a better light on the relationships between them. And it's going to be short. Enjoy!

**Part One: **The Fallen

**Chapter One: **Pursuit

He was breathing heavily as he rigorously pumped his arms and legs, sprinting as quickly as he could and ignoring the stabbing pains that ripped through his stomach. The cool night air blew gently as it rifled through his dark, shaggy hair and cooled off the sweat beads that were forming on his forehead.

His dark eyes were focused on only one thing, the shadows growing in the corners of his vision.

Heaving, he felt himself begin to sway but he knew that he could not surrender. Not now, not when everything had turned out the way that it was supposed to. Not when he had finally regained his freedom.

Abruptly he turned to the left, swerving on his heel and praying it would shake some of them off of his trail. He tripped slightly over his other leg, but it was ignored and he recovered quickly, not even bothering to pause as he simply darted once again into the night.

The shadows were growing and speeding, and he knew that escape would become futile if he didn't think quickly. Calculating eyes searched his surroundings with the utmost care, looking for a loophole, a diversion, anything.

When his coffee brown stare landed on a possible destination, he had to stop the bitter chuckle from the pure irony of the situation as he propelled himself across the dark to a church across the road, praying that it was still opened and unlocked.

The shadows were beginning to reach for him now, they were so close. Tendrils nicked his ankles and arms as they attempted to grab a hold of him but were met with nothing but air as he pushed with every ounce of determination that he had within him.

The church. If he made the church, he would survive the night.

His booted feet scudded to a halt in front of the large, mahogany doors as he frantically jiggled the handles. Terror and apprehension filled his core when he realized that the entrance was locked, "_Zut!" _He swore, turning quickly once again to look for a side door, the shadows so close he could feel them.

"_Mon Dieu,_" he muttered to himself as he repeatedly checked the side doors, finding each one in secession to be locked, _"Mon Dieu, aidez-moi, s'il vous plait,_" He kept uttering the prayer, his hope beginning to evaporate as he realized he was quickly approaching the final door.

"_DIEU!"_ He swore out loud as his hand was outstretched for the handle-

-only to find it already opening.

An elderly man, obviously a priest due to his apparel, opened the door, his beady eyes squinting behind his thick glasses, "Young man, what is troubling you?" He asked in a mix of confusion and annoyance, "And why are shouting?"

He panted, his breaths in short, desperate gasps, "Please, help. They're after me," He begged.

The priest seemed to eye him over before shaking his head, "Then you best hurry in, young man, I was just about to lock up for the night."

He said nothing, only nodded feverishly as he plowed into the church after the old priest, making sure to bar and barricade the door behind him. Knowing that locks were next to useless against his pursuers, he turned to the old man, "Is there a back way out?" He demanded.

The priest appeared rather taken aback, "You know, you're being quite rude-"

"Is there a back way out!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

His bushy eyebrows shot up at his tone, "Just what exactly are you running from, boy?" He asked.

His younger counterpart bit down a snort of apprehension, "The devil himself." Was what he settled on saying, "Now, is there a back way out?"

The priest shook his head, incredulously, "I'm afraid not, there are a few side doors, but more than likely your pursuers are already around them."

"_Merde."_ He muttered, beginning to pace across the front pews of the church.

The priest smiled lightly, and clasped a fatherly hand on the troubled young man's shoulder, "As long as you're in God's house, no evil can befall you."

This time, the snort actually escaped from him, "God's done a great job so far." He muttered.

The priest's smile faltered at the man's condescending words, "Pardon me, my French might not be advanced, but I believe I heard you screaming for his help a few moment's ago."

The young man slumped down on a pew, staring at his hands, "If asking for his help landed me in a building with only one exit, I'd prefer it if he just left me alone."

"Young people," The older of the two stated, shaking his head.

"I'm not that young," He responded.

"Anyone under thirty is considered young when you get to be my age," He responded off-handedly, sitting next to the disheveled boy.

"Like I said, I'm not that young."

The priest thought that this boy's behavior was peculiar, but shrugged it off, "What's your name?"

"Zahi."

"So, Zahi, what exactly are you doing, running from the 'devil himself', in the middle of the night?"

He seemed to mull over his answer carefully, "Well, I quit their organization."

The listener's eyes widened, "Are you in some sort of cult, my boy?"

"You could say that."

"So why are they chasing you?"

Zahi sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and leaned back on the pew carelessly, "Let's just say they put a lot of effort into me, and I know a lot of their secrets." His eyes narrowed intensely, "And they're willing to do anything to silence me from spreading them."

The priest's eyes widened, "I see. How did they find you?"

A look of bitterness crossed the teen's features, "I was betrayed."

There was a moment of silence, before the priest prompted, "How so?"

"There was this girl," He paused, his voice becoming darker with a malevolent edge to it, "Named Morgan. She said she wanted to help me with my…situation. She said she sympathized with me." A frown etched its way onto his features, "But in reality, she was only manipulating me in my vulnerable condition to get more power from the Atrox."

"The Atrox?"

"You don't want to know."

The priest nodded, considering, "So what happened next?"

"She turned me in to some of the leaders of our organization," He pointed his thumb to the doors, "And the leaders sent their lackeys after me."

The priest seemed deep in thought, a grave look resurfacing over his once friendly features, "How did you get free?"

Zahi turned his head slightly, "_Pardon?_"

The man's withered old fingers steepled in contemplation, "If this Atrox is so powerful, however did you get away from it in the first place?"

A bittersweet smile crept onto his lips as he stared at his own hands, "A Goddess favored me."

"Which one?" The priest's words were cutting and Zahi stood up, immediately on the defensive.

"What do you mean, which one?" The teen questioned cautiously, paranoia now intact.

The priest stood up, now looking far from feeble as shadows crawled over his face and his posture became rigid instead of hunched, "I asked, which one?"

"How do you know there are more than one?" He asked as his coffee eyes darted from door to door, praying for a way out.

The priest laughed, and it wasn't raspy but clear and cold, the clouded and senile look to his eyes being replaced by something cunning and calculating. "My boy, someone that once held _some_ caliber ought to know not to judge by appearances."

Zahi's mouth gaped as he realized he had been tricked, "A Regulator," He whispered as he immediately darted towards the door he had entered.

Sure enough, the disguise of the holy man began to melt away, revealing ragged and decaying features as a feral grin presented itself, "And I was beginning to think I had overestimated you, _Zahi._" The creature sneered in irritation.

"_Maudire!" _He yelled in frustration as he jiggled the handle to the door to discover it locked, he turned quickly and prepared to dash to another exit when a hand, skeletal and clammy locked around his wrist.

"You're not going anywhere, fallen one," It hissed in a malicious satisfaction, its grip tightening, "The Atrox is far too desperate to discover how someone escaped its influence, and you will make an excellent test subject." It cackled, the eyes glowing yellow.

And that was the last thing Zahi heard before he sunk to his knees, darkness overcoming him.

**Translations:**

_Zut!- _a French expression that is most comparable to an angry version of 'shucks!'

_Mon Dieu, aidez-moi, s'il vous plait- _My God, help me, please

_Merde-_ Shit.

_Pardon-_Excuse me?

_Maudire- _Damn!

**That was your little introduction to Zahi's part, the rest of the chapters will be longer.**

**Next Up: Return**


	5. The Fallen: Return

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Dum Spero_

**Part One: **The Fallen

**Chapter Two: **Return

"You've failed me greatly, you know," Came the flat, expressionless voice from within the darkness of the chamber.

The figure in the center of the room, bound by chains, inhaled shakily and spat out excess blood that had accumulated within his mouth, but remained silent.

"I put so much effort, so much time, into shaping and teaching you, and how do you repay me?" The disembodied voice continued.

Once again, its question was met with only the sound of broken breathing.

"You give in to _mercy,_" At the final word, the tone changed from nonchalant to vicious and snarling, "You hesitate. You felt _sorry_ for your project."

"Her name," Came the deep voice which was startling clear despite the owner's battered and bruised body, "Is Serena. And it was her that felt sorry for me." A pause, as the owner began to cough harshly, more blood emitting from his mouth, "And I didn't deserve it."

An exasperated sigh came before the voice stated firmly, "Take this pathetic lowlife out to the back and leave him at the _mercy_ of the Regulators. I don't believe Zahi has yet learned his lesson."

OoO

Later that night, when they dragged the lowlife who was once a prodigy back to his cell, he requested that they kill him. His request, simple as it was, had been denied as the living corpses went back to the command of their revered leader.

Regulators, even when he had been in service, they disgusted him.

OoO

Reprimand, beatings, lecture, torture, it had all become such a repetitive cycle that he had began to loose the desire to feel the pain from the Regulators' well-aimed fists and boots. They were trying to break Zahi, get answers out of him about how he had been freed from the Cold Fire, what the incantation Serena muttered was, and all the knowledge he had acquired about the Daughters of the Moon while he was in disguise.

Zahi gave them nothing, and just tensed for the next blow.

Some days, when he was incredibly unlucky, they would switch tactics, reverting to mind manipulation and mental torture. Those days were the worst, as Zahi would see fragments from his memories be contorted into living nightmares. He would watch his siblings and parents, back when he had been truly alive, age and die, withering away into nothing. The promise would hold, in the back of his head, the sweet taunts from The Atrox, vowing to return his immortality back to him so he would evade that same fate. Zahi would remain silent, occasionally mustering up enough spite to spit at the Atrox's feet in contempt.

"You're becoming a disappointment, Zahi," The dark voice stated, the next time Zahi saw him, "I'm beginning to think this process is more effort than it's worth."

The teenager, who had not been a teen for centuries, growled, "Then just kill me, and spare yourself the dirty work."

The voice had laughed, cruel and cutting, "While I appreciate your zeal, killing you would be an _entire _waste. You have answers Zahi, and you have abilities beyond normal Followers. Both are skills that I need, and I thought you would have accepted this fact long ago," The voice trailed off, ghostly fingers dancing across Zahi's cheeks, "I **own **you, Zahi. I will always own you. It doesn't matter if The Key intervened, it doesn't even matter if you decide to dedicate your life to Selene. You are mine, and you will always come crawling back to me."

Zahi shivered, and his lips curled into a snarl, "No one owns me!" He shouted, his former control vanishing as hatred filled him, "I will **not **cower beneath you like a beaten down dog anymore!" Intensity picked up in his tone, his words loud and harsh screams, "I'm free! She freed me!"

"Not for long," Came the loathing whisper, followed by clear cut orders, "Take him back to his cell, and beat some sense into him."

Zahi didn't even have the strength to struggle as two Regulators picked him up by his arms and dragged him away.

OoO

The days continued, unforgiving and brutal. Zahi had slowly began to loose the ability to speak out, his resolve shattering and eroding as each lonely night passed. He eventually stopped eating, stopped fighting, as hopelessness clawed and festered within his heart. No one was coming to save him, and he held no power to save himself. He was on his own, abandoned and forsaken. Zahi had no one, not a benevolent goddess to care for him, or loved ones that were still of this world. Alone. That was all he was now. A no man, with no place, no family, no purpose.

Whenever he wasn't being tortured, or tempted, he would just sit quietly in his cell, sorrowful eyes staring up between the bars of his prison window, as they gazed longingly at the moon.

OoO

After a few months, when Zahi was called back into the room where he would be sweet talked by the Atrox, he wasn't surprised when he saw the freezing inferno waiting for him in the corner.

He was surprised, however, when the Regulators forcibly threw him into the flames.

He was sure, at that point, he probably would have walked into the Cold Fire on his own, without any assistance.

**OoO**

To be continued… (eventually heh sorry about that)

Next chapter will be longer, this one just felt right being short.

!nym!


	6. The Fallen: Dissent

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

**AN: **A note on time frame in this fic, Zahi's section starts right after the events of book two, and the Atrox held him captive for over a year. So this chapter is taking place sometime after book 12 : D

There's maybe some spoilers for the rest of the Night's Children series? I think I hid the hints well enough, but I suppose we'll have to see…

**Part One: The Fallen**

**Chapter Three: Dissent**

The young man, who was really centuries old, felt as if he were about to be sick. A cold sweat beaded down his forehead as his palms became clammy and his heart raced frantically against his chest. Wide, yellow, eyes stared out of the car's window in wonder mixed with fear as the Cadillac slowly rolled to a stop at its destination.

The driver, some no-name Initiate barely above notice, looked at the figure in black who was sitting in the back seat, "They're waiting for you," He said, his features obscured by a pair of oversized black sunglasses.

Tensing, he slowly nodded, a hand slick with sweat slipping once on the door handle before strengthening its resolve and prying it open. Cautiously, like a swimmer testing the water before a dive, a pair of expensive black leather shoes landed on the concrete sidewalk which framed the entryway into the club. He ran his aristocratic fingers through his hair and tried to get over his useless fear when he read the otherwise unnoticeable sign.

The Dungeon.

His footfalls echoed hollowly as he approached the line of admittance, and everyone he passed seemed to still in awe. It didn't even take five full seconds before hushed whispers exploded, gossip and questioning glances thrown at him from the Followers outside.

He paid them no heed, and simply approached the man playing bouncer this evening, a man he once knew, and hated, rather well.

"Karyl," He said smoothly behind clenched teeth as he stared at the doorman, one of Stanton's whelps.

Karyl's dark eyes widened almost comically when they saw who was in front of him, and he straightened almost nervously, "Zahi," He stated, "What are you doing back here? Didn't The Key-?"

"That was more than a year ago," Zahi responded, irritation leaking in his tone that did not go unnoticed by Karyl.

Seeing the agitation that clung to the prodigy's frame, Karyl wisely unbuckled the rope and allowed him to pass through without any more questioning.

Zahi exhaled slowly and entered the club, the black painted walls, quite frankly horrible music, and familiar sight of dozens of teens with glowing eyes sending a repulsive bout of nostalgia about him. This was his 'coming out' as one of the Regulators had coined it, and it was the first night he was going to be reintroduced to the Followers' world.

He barely had time to register his surroundings when he felt a slim arm encircle his waist, followed by the sensation of something definitely female pressing up against him.

"Long time no see, handsome." Cooed a falsely sugared voice that could only belong to one.

"Yvonne," Zahi said flatly, one of the few not enamored with the blonde seductress.

His eyes drifted down to her rather perfect form, and he repressed a snort about how the girl held absolutely no shame. Her top was some sort of leather contraption that would have looked more comfortable as a glorified shoelace, and her skirt was at a length that it didn't leave much to the imagination. But that was Yvonne's angle, he supposed, her allotted position. She was beautiful and entrancing, and she was simply playing to her strengths.

His bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that it wasn't beyond Yvonne to shower someone with false compliments and flattery in order to put herself on the advantage. Zahi was just new meat.

"Aw, didn't miss me?" She asked playfully, her hands moving from around his waist and smoothing up to his chest.

"You hardly crossed my mind," He said off-handedly, wanting this ridiculous process to be over with quickly so she would go about to her next target, "Unless, of course, I was being mentally tortured into reminiscing terrible memories."

Her faux grin fell, but a dark amusement glistened in her eyes, enjoying the next game far more than the one Zahi refused to play, "Mentally tortured? So I suppose the rumors are true," She scoffed, flipping perfectly straight hair over a slender shoulder, "Being defeated by a little girl and then given a good spanking? You used to have something hindering on the border of respect, Zahi. Now you're the laughing stock of the Followers, Initiates aren't even scared of you."

Her words did not affect him, he doubted anything would affect him anymore, "Were you insisting on making your point? Because your attempts at undermining me fall nothing short of pathetic, I assure you."

She smirked coyly, "I don't need to attempt it, Zahi, being undermined seems to be part of the package deal nowadays. So far below the standards, notice how not one Follower here is decked out in the goat-punker glam? Trust me, everyone else has."

He was beginning to get annoyed, "What do you want?"

She stepped back from him, giving a nondescript shrug, "Simply to welcome you back, Zahi." Saffron clouded her azure stare, "Hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

His eyes narrowed and arms folded over his chest, "What is that supposed to mean?"

That irritating grin reappeared, the one expression that could make Zahi want to go against the chivalrous mannerisms of his upbringing and just solidly punch a girl in the face, "Look across the club," She said, her eyes rolling towards an obscure corner.

He unwilling followed her stare, landing on an empty section shrouded in shadow, "So?"

"Keep watching." A tiny mental message was sent from Yvonne to the corner, and Zahi watched the transformation.

The first to emerge was a blond teenager who appeared to be around sixteen. His hair was swept back into a ducktail and a pair of aviator sunglasses sat perched upon his head.

He wasn't what caught Zahi's attention.

What froze Zahi, stopped his very heart from beating for a few moments, was the next figure that appeared. She was being gripped rather viciously around the bicep by the boy.

Flawless tan skin, sun kissed locks that were styled in cookie-cutter high fashion, a slim body, and huge doe eyes.

Doe eyes that were crying fat tears of terror.

A slim body except for the very, _very _noticeable bulge around the stomach.

"What the hell is _she _doing here?" He demanded, a bitterness that could only be brought upon by betrayal lacing his query.

"Oh, you know her?" Yvonne chirped with false ignorance, examining exquisitely clean fingernails.

"Answer me. Now."

Her grin escalated to a full-fledged predatory smile, "That's who you will be crossing over this evening."

"Don't be ridiculous," He said, hopefully off-handedly.

"I'm _never _ridiculous, and this is your test imposed by the Atrox itself. Ensuring loyalty, and to see if you meet our expectations," The woman elaborated.

"She's already a Follower."

"Not quite, that brat Goddess who can turn invisible saved her."

He exhaled through his nostrils, knowing he was cornered and not liking it one bit.

"_Merde."_

Morgan Page. The girl who had tipped the Regulators off to his whereabouts. The girl who was a betrayer, the one who had practically gift-wrapped him for the Atrox.

The girl who wasobviously pregnant.

"We're waiting," Purred Yvonne, glinting yellow eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

Zahi brushed her off with the nastiest look he could conjure, and shouldered passed her to enter the crowd.

OoO

The babysitter of the distraught girl, the untalented Follower with the severe hang-up on the fifties, immediately backed away when he saw Zahi's imposing figure cut through the crowd. He dipped his head respectfully before he darted away quickly.

Morgan's breath had stopped as she realized who stood across from her. A dainty hand rested over her chest and she braced herself against the wall, cowering slightly.

Zahi snorted at such an obvious display of weakness, "Morgan." He greeted, severely cold.

She winced at his tone, "Zahi, I am _so _sorry, I had no idea-"

"You had no idea that I'd be returning," He spat, cutting her off, "Spare me your false apologies."

Morgan's eyes widened, and her breathing was on the verge of hyperventilation, "Don't be mad, please! I didn't mean-"

"You know why I'm here." It wasn't a question, "You know why you're here."

Morgan's head dropped and Zahi tried to ignore how her arms immediately went over her stomach, protectively covering the bulge. "Yes." She whispered weakly.

"Then let's get this over with," Zahi sneered in a clipped voice.

She shook her head with a new resolve, "No!" She cried, quickly looking around for an exit, "Zahi, I deserve this for what I did, trust me I know, but Ezra-"

He grimaced. Great, she had _named _the bulge.

"-doesn't. Please, he might be crossed over too." She begged pathetically.

He felt that infuriating symptom of humanity tearing at his heart, the one called mercy. The way she stood, cowardly yet somehow strong in her love for her unborn child, made him want to kill her or comfort her.

_She's mineshe'smineshe'smine… _He could hear the voice hissing in the back of his skull. _Easy prey, take her, devour her, the child's too, they mean nothing, they _are _nothing. Just like you, take them and be _something.

His fist clenched, as did his teeth. They weren't anything, and if they were, they were scum. The traitorous mother and the child both. They _deserved _to feel like Zahi felt, they _deserved _the sensations of being alone and afraid and hopeless with no one giving a damn for them. She deserved it a hundred times over.

Morgan seemed to see the darkness slowly winning over the handsome teenager, for she tried to run. Her swollen self got two steps before Zahi gripped her arms in a painful vice. She squirmed, but it was to no avail, and her cries of protest were lost among the crowd.

"I'll make it quick," Zahi said in a raspy voice that conveyed his inner struggle.

"Zahi! Don't do this!" Morgan shrilled, crying once again.

"Shut up," He hissed, as her cries sent his internal balance askew.

_Evil woman deserves reparation for her crimes against us._

**But she's just a teenager. A pregnant teenager.**

_A traitor, one who sold your soul to buy herself time. She's selfish, she's manipulating you Zahi, just like she did before. _

**But, the baby…**

_Is inconsequential. This is the mother's fault, the sins will be carried to the child, this is all her fault anyways. It's her fault that the unborn is in danger, and she probably doesn't care about it anyways…She's playing you again, Zahi. Don't be foolish._

**This doesn't feel right…**

_It will when it's over…_

"Zahi! STOP!" She screamed, "Someone help me!"

_She's mine, I claimed her so long ago, but she slipped through the nets. She's a snake, Zahi, avoiding her fate like you tried to. When people avoid fate it deals with them more harshly. She used you, she's trying to use you now._

**I'm…not you anymore.**

_You've _always _been me._

Morgan was clawing at him like a wildcat, trying to free herself when she noticed that Zahi's prior uncertainty was being erased by something demented and twisted. "Please, it's a boy! His name's Ezra, his dad's-"

**Damn it.**

_Damn her._

**I **can't **do this.**

_You _will _do this, or it's back to the chopping block._

_Her or you, Zahi. Make your choice._

**It's two against one.**

Zahi's intense grip fell on the blonde girl, and his entire being was drenched in a cold sweat, "Go…" He whispered.

Morgan stared at him in amazement, tears still coursing down her face.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" He screamed, shoving her for good measure as his hold over sanity tried to reassert itself.

Morgan quickly snapped out of her daze, realizing her opening for what it was as the Atrox's hold over Zahi seemed to have met a lapse. Scrambling, she quickly weaved around the Followers and made her way out of the club.

Mentally exhausted, Zahi sank to his knees as he watched the blonde head of hair disappear from his sight. Gripping his head tightly in his hands he felt darkness creeping up the corners of his vision. On the ground before him he saw a pair of neatly pedicured feet.

"You were supposed to be great," Came the sneer of Yvonne as she stood in front of the struggling Follower who had failed his test.

Enough of his old cocky personality resurfaced for him to give her a smug smirk, "I'm better than great, Yvonne." He whispered.

The girl gave a snort of disdain before turning to someone on her side, "Take out the trash."

Zahi briefly registered a fist sailing towards his head before everything went black.


	7. The Fallen: Condemned

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_AN: _Short, short, short!

**Part One: The Fallen**

**Chapter Four: Condemned**

"That," Came a snide voice from the leader of the Regulators, a decaying bastard named Athelfirth, "Would be your third strike, Zahi." He hissed between gray, rotted teeth.

Zahi simply sneered at the Regulator, as two more held him in place at each side. He had woken up in the basement of The Dungeon, his hands tied behind him and surrounded by guards. He grimaced, he should have known that the entire night had been a setup, that the Atrox had to have known that he wouldn't be able to convert Morgan and her unborn son.

"Just kill me and get it over with," He muttered coldly.

"No, because that's what you want," Athelfirth noted smugly, "You are a worm now, Zahi. You hold no interesting or redeeming qualities and the Atrox is just waiting for the opportunity to squash you."

"Then why doesn't he?" Zahi demanded, rage filtering in to his tone.

"Count your lucky stars, you bastard," Athelfirth spat, "Because the Atrox's heir intervened to spare you."

Zahi's face fell and his skin paled, completely shocked and unnerved, "_Que?!_" He demanded.

The Regulator's blistered lip quirked up into a sneer, "For some reason, Stanton wants you alive, Zahi, and the Atrox favors its genius son more than anyone else." His eyes narrowed, "But your immortal life will be cursed forever. You are sentenced to a half existence for your betrayal but more importantly for your weakness."

Zahi numbly shook his head, still not processing that Stanton had intervened against the Atrox's decree on account of him. Something was failing to add up, Stanton and Zahi had been rivals ever since they had both been introduced to servitude of the darkness, by all rights Stanton should be celebrating his once pending execution.

Finally, he gathered his wits enough about him to ask the dreaded question, "What is my punishment?"

Athelfirth grinned in pure, sadistic pleasure, "You Zahi, once favorite of the Atrox, will toil the rest of eternity in the labor pits of Nefandus."

Zahi could feel his jaw drop as his stomach sank and in the recesses of his mind he could hear the Atrox laughing at him.

"Isaac, Sheb," The man barked at the two Regulators holding Zahi in place, "Take him to be processed."

OoO

He couldn't feel it when they placed mental limiters on his powers.

He couldn't feel it when they shaved his head.

He couldn't feel it when they took his possessions and dressed him in rags, the noble Zahi reduced to wearing stained linens with holes in them.

All Zahi could feel was the gnawing, aching sensation in the pit of his chest, the strong, unending desire to consume and devour. The want of hope that didn't belong to him. It was aching, his heart thudding violently against his ribcage, and sweat streaming down his face.

What was worse, was _its _voice- constantly calling and demanding him. The Atrox taunted him, beckoned and promised and played with the inner turmoil that was his mind. Zahi's nerves were frazzled, his thoughts in a total disarray and his demeanor sinking into the primal urges of an animal. He felt worthless, disembodied and disconnected from his entire world.

This may have been a godsend in disguise, because as the two Regulators, Isaac and Sheb, hauled him away- clasped in manacles and chains- Zahi was completely oblivious to the jeers and insults that were being thrown at him almost as much as trash.

Zahi had been in an extreme position of power and respect when he had been a total Follower, and in the Atrox's world, power and respect is synonymous with fear and hatred. Now that Zahi no longer held domination over the first half, the Followers who had once pledged loyalty turned on him like rabid wolves. People lined up to see the mockery of a spectacle- one who was practically invincible was being sent to do a slave's work for eternity. There had to be some sort of ironic amusement lying buried underneath the pretenses, but Zahi himself was far too gone within himself to pay any attention to it.

When the curtain between the two worlds was lifted, Zahi numbly drank the sight all in as he was roughly shoved into the land of shadow. The constant night had a way of bringing about the darkness in everyone, and Zahi himself was no different as he began to crave for hope even more intensely- his coffee colored eyes an intense yellow that radiated in the black of Nefandus.

The Regulators carted him along like cattle, and when they finally reached their destination- some sort of mundane meeting house- he found himself propelled forward, a meaty hand quickly grabbing him under the chin.

Zahi's acrid stare darted up to the inspector of the _servi _on Nefandus, a huge Regulator with a shaved head and mottled skin. He smiled, the motion making parts of his facial skin tear and fall away.

"I _luff _the pritty uns," He growled, laughing slightly. The Regulators behind Zahi laughed along without much conviction. "Quarry." He said bluntly, placing a heavy hand on Zahi's shoulders- emaciated from the time spent as a prisoner- and shoving him into a longer line.

The two Regulators that had accompanied Zahi thus far then shriveled into the night, and Zahi quietly processed that he was now on his own and at the complete mercy of these barbaric, ruthless bastards.

The line, which consisted of miserable slaves with expressions that mirrored his own, inched forward at a snail's pace, and Zahi inched with them. When he finally approached the beginning, he was given a pickaxe, a number, and yet another shove towards another sadistic Regulator.

"My name's Miran, I'm your overseer," He boomed, "And you pathetic creatures are going to be breaking rocks in this miserable place for the rest of your worthless, undying lives."

It would be three years before Zahi ever heard a human voice again.

**OoO**

**Next: **Final part of arc one: The King

!nym!


	8. The Fallen: The King

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_AN: _Guess what this chapter is? Five letters long, rhymes with 'tort'.

**Part One: The Fallen**

**Chapter Five: The King**

_Three Years Later_

The pointed edge fell down roughly against the rocks, shattering bits with clean precision. The young man who wielded the tool gave a small grunt, the only sign of physical exertion as sweat glistened on his dirty biceps that were visible under the shabby gray uniform. His arms, now looking far more powerful due to the years of manual labor, heaved up the pickaxe and yet again sent it crashing into the stone.

The young man's name was Zahi, but he never answered to it. He remained nameless, inconspicuous, and unknown.

Those ones tended to evade the coliseums a bit longer than those that held names, were noisy, and outspoken. It was the first lesson he had learned on Nefandus, when a man that could have been his age was carted up and driven off to the death matches in the blink of an eye simply because he wanted an extra flask of water.

The young man that was once Zahi had long ago forsaken such luxuries. The use for water, or food, or sleep was completely unnecessary for survival in this cold, never ending night. The workers were all Immortal, and as such, they had no need to experience the necessities of life in order to preserve it. Occasionally, he would receive breaks, but those were only to allow his shredded muscles to regenerate themselves in order to stimulate productivity.

_Productivity for breaking rocks, such a vital part of a modern economy, _he thought snidely, for he allowed himself the one privilege of keeping his own thoughts over the cycles of work, as the Regulators were far beneath him in telepathy and couldn't break into his mind. If that were the case, he would have been decimated a week into his internment.

Another thunderous noise was heard as he swung the tool down into the earth yet again, chips of granite flecking away and whizzing by his head like bullets. He had a definite rhythm to his work, and used the repetitive noises and routine to ground his sanity in this cesspool of despair. As much as he loathed to admit it, his stay in Nefandus had humbled him greatly, and he found himself experiencing life as a Follower from the other end of the spectrum- an experience he was _almost _thankful for.

Almost.

He was so distracted, that he failed to notice the small bundle of rags come sailing towards him until it connected with his side. Grunting in shock, the pickaxe flew into the air and the young man once known as Zahi was sent hurtling towards the ground. His dark brown eyes widened as he scrambled up, looking for the source of the interruption.

He found it in the beady yellow stare of his overseer, Miran. The beefy Regulator said nothing, only jabbed a decomposing finger at the pile of rags he had just been assaulted with, "That brat's yours, take care of him."

The young man's eyes widened, and he looked down and was shocked to discover that the bundle of rags was actually _moving_. So startled, that he took a few steps back, wondering if this was some sort of twisted game.

A pair of scrawny, pasty arms and equally feeble legs jutted out, revealing the pile of rags to actually be a small boy in an oversized tunic. He had wiry brown hair, and huge green eyes that seemed to constitute the majority of his far too thin, young face. The little boy tensed when he looked at the young man he had just been thrown at.

To an outside perspective, the man looked fierce, wild, and brutal. His hair was almost black, hanging in greasy tendrils down his face and splaying over his back, and his dark eyes had a primal look to them- intense and frightening. Sufficiently terrified, the little boy did the only thing he knew, and bowed low to him, his forehead pressed against the dirt.

The young man evaluated the scrimpy little brat, and immediately deducted that it wouldn't last two days in the quarry and he decided to go back to crushing rocks.

After a few seconds, having not received a beating, the little boy cracked open an eyelid and was in awe to discover that he hadn't been killed yet. Timidly, he slowly got up from his submissive position and watched the man with wide, watery eyes.

The young man pretended to act like he didn't notice.

XxX

The days continued, and the little boy was next to useless. He wasn't physically strong enough to do the work commanded- looked rather sickly, in fact- and there were no tasks available for the weak. He would be picked off by the vultures the moment the Regulators swooped in to find potential coliseum participants.

The young man tried incredibly hard not to be affected by such a premise. He had seen countless of weak workers picked off and carted to the fighting arena, why should one meager little kid make a difference?

The thing was, though, that the young man found himself growing inadvertently attached to the little snotty-nosed kid, probably a once _servus _by his demeanor. Although the fragile boy couldn't do the grueling manual labor required, he still sought to help the young man in any way that he could. He would struggle, sometimes for hours on end, to move the slabs of granite the young man had chipped away earlier, to the collection point. The young man had to admire the boy's tenacity, and found a flare of pity igniting in his chest for the pathetic servant. He had the strongest desire to survive out of anyone the young man had seen yet, but the weakest physical strength as well. The two had not spoken one word to each other, but the young man could tell the child was already completely devoted to helping him. It was the first bit of hope the young man once known as Zahi had encountered in the dark world of Nefandus.

Perhaps, that was why today, with the Regulators in charge of coliseum recruitment due for a visit, that the young man was starting to feel expressly agitated. He made sure to cover the child whenever patrol would stroll through, covering him with a basket- he was tiny enough to fit- or stacking a freshly hewn boulder in front of him. Before the young man knew it, he found himself repeating the process day after day, week after week. He guarded the little child from the Regulators, and ensured his survival for just that little bit longer.

The young man vowed that the little boy who had been entrusted to him would never set foot in a coliseum, not on his life.

After a few months of this, the young man was finally allowed a break and a chunk of old bread. He sat gingerly on the opposite side of the work site, picking out the bits of mold in the food with his dirt-encrusted fingernails. He was surprised, when he noticed that the little boy had followed him, sitting down on same bench.

The young man spared the boy a glance, before he began to toughly chew the stale bread.

"Thank you," Came a voice that was so much smaller than the person who wielded it, and worn out from disuse.

The young man began to choke on his food, complete shock overtaking him at having heard those two words. He pitched forward, and the little boy took the initiative, thumping him hard on the back with his fist. A bit of slime launched out of the young man's mouth, and he inhaled deeply.

"I'm sorry!" The boy squeaked quickly, bowing once again. "I just wanted to thank you for saving me all those times!"

The young man blinked slowly, processing this with awe.

"And I suppose a smaller part of me wanted to know why you even bothered," He said. His tone was so genuine that the young man knew it wasn't an attempt to get false sympathy, but an actual, rational question.

The young man shook his head carefully, to clear his thoughts, and affectionately patted the boy on the top of the head, before he spoke the first words he'd said in his three years of imprisonment.

"Because you're a king."

**OoO**

_Up Next: The Servant, part one._


	9. The Servant: Death of a Slave

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

**AN: **Flashback of sorts in this chapter- how Art got sent to the labor pits

_Part Two: The Servant_

_Chapter One: Death of a Slave_

The boy knew he was in danger the moment he started to receive the sympathetic looks from the other _servi _of the Lord's manor as he scrubbed the cobblestones of the walkways. A few of the older ones shook their head at him as they continued working on their own assignments, and when he finally found the courage to ask one of his fellow _servi, _a young girl with blonde hair and owl-like eyes, what the answer was horrified him.

"The Lord has discovered who has been sneaking into the library during the early hours," She whispered, quaky as if she feared punishment just for telling him. As soon as she had said those condemning words, she went back frantically to washing the large, stained glass windows.

The boy felt something drop into the pit of his stomach as raw terror squeezed his heart in a vice. His mouth was dry and his eyes wide, "Who told?" He whispered. He didn't get an answer, and he didn't expect one.

The boy, ever since he had met the young goddess a few years ago, had taken to infiltrating the large, extensive library of the Lord's home. The room was huge, with seemingly thousands of archaic, moldy tomes that held the secrets of the ancients and the powerful Immortals. The boy had been sneaking in every day since the goddess had smiled at him, searching for a way to lift his contract and escape to the real world. Most of the words had been in Latin, and the boy, who had always been bright, had slowly taught himself how to decipher certain words from pictures and roots until he knew enough to decode the old spells and curses. He was so close to finding a way to free himself, maybe a few more months…

But now his shame had been uncovered. The boy knew he was going to be sent to the coliseum. There was no possible way to avoid it, any _servi _caught meddling in affairs that were outside of their duty were destroyed or never heard from again.

Pure dread overtook the boy, as he turned as white as a sheet and his hands trembled. He was going to die. His existence was over and he would die alone and cold in a shadow world. Fear gripped him, and he quickly dropped his washing rag, running towards the servants' washroom.

The boy's scarred, raw, and bleeding hands quickly turned on the faucet to the old sink, brown water spurting out of it. He pooled it into his small hold and splashed his face, on the verge of hyperventilating as he continued to heap more water over his closed eyes.

He had been discovered.

He was going to be destroyed.

The boy quickly ran towards a foul chamber pot, where he bent over and promptly expelled what little food he had in his stomach.

In the middle of his retching, the door to the washroom was brutally kicked open, and his head looked up to see one of the older _servi _standing at the door. He was big, and strong, and by the totally stoic stance but sad eyes he had, the boy deducted that he was the one who would be dragging him to the Lord's chambers for punishment.

The boy stared at the older man, and despite himself, he felt hot prickles in the corners of his eyes. He crawled into a corner, frail hands clenching onto knobbly knees as he tried to make himself disappear. Full, fat tears rolled down his face as the older _servus _stepped closer to him. Each footfall another nail in his coffin.

The boy knew running would be futile. He was sickly and weak, the _servus _before him had been given cushier treatment in order to provide physical strength for his duties. He was doomed.

"I'm sorry, but I need to take you to the Master now," His voice was low and remorseful, but unwavering. The boy knew he would not be changing his mind. A large hand clamped around the boy's birdlike shoulder and a sense of raw terror filled his chest.

He was going away. He would be one of those who were never heard from again. He was going to be one of _those. _

The boy met the man's sad eyes for an instance, before his stomach flipped and he once again vomited.

The man wasn't disgusted, having seen much worse during his stint as a servant of evil. He scooped the boy up like he weighed nothing but air, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

The boy began to wail desperately, unintelligible cries of profound grief as he futilely beat his weak fists against the man's backside, his breathing spiking and his eyes beginning to grow dark in the corners.

It wasn't a great existence. It was a _horrible _existence. But at least it was a _life, _something better than the terrible expanse of unknown that was death. The boy struggled, writhing like a worm on a fish hook, but the big _servus _paid him no mind as he robotically walked towards the Lord's personal quarters.

The boy didn't know enough words to plead for his life, his mind had abandoned him and his rhetoric was sorely lacking. The only thing he could comprehend was his imminent destruction.

It soon physically manifested itself in the form of two large, oak doors.

The big man knocked once, dropped the boy to the ground almost impossibly gently, and soon vanished into the darkness.

The boy scrambled to get to his feet, to stand and make a run for it, but terror had immobilized his, crawling down his spine and tearing all of his nerves. Nothing reacted, nothing _knew _how to react. He collapsed to the ground and shivered as the crying escalated beyond his control.

He was picked up again, cold hands on each of his stick-like biceps as he was dragged into the room. He couldn't look up to meet the eyes of his condemner, but he could feel his horrifying presence as surely as he could tell that the ones holding him were Regulators by their stench.

"You've crossed me," Came the voice of his executioner, "Betrayed me, who gave you a home."

The boy did not know what a home was, his mind failed to process the words spilling out of the Lord's mouth like red wine onto clean linen.

"I can't stand for this. You must die," The boy emitted a fresh sob, and was given a sharp jab to his ribs for the effort. He felt something snap, but oddly enough there was no pain. "You are going to the labor pits before the coliseums because I hear the Regulators still have a sense of humor." He drawled, before addressing the boy's holders, "Dispose of this filth."

The boy screamed, and then there was only darkness.

**OoO**

**Up Next: **Bonds aren't as easy to form when one is under constant threat of death, but they seem to last a bit longer.


	10. The Servant: Amity

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_Part Two: The Servant_

_Chapter Two: Amity_

It had been almost a year since the boy had been assisting the man in the quarry, and he still frightened him. The boy knew it was ridiculous to be scared of him, the man had saved his life at least a dozen times by now by hiding him from the Regulators, but there was this odd intensity about him- one that was far too similar to the boy's old Lord.

The nights went on monotonously, but that was fine for the boy, he was used to monotony. Being a servant instilled a phenomenal amount of patience in someone, even someone as young as he was. He noticed, with some glee, that his scrawny arms were beginning to acquire definition from the grueling manual labor, and his endurance rose. His complexion was no longer quite as sickly as it had once been.

In a warped sort of manner, life in the quarry was almost _better _than his life had been as a _servus. _In both there was always the fear of imminent death, but here, he at least stood a fighting chance. Plus, he had a…

The boy's large green eyes flickered up to the man who had saved him in the labor pits. He was working, chipping away relentlessly at a huge slab of what appeared to be granite. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his eyes were blank, his mind obviously far, far away from here.

The boy gave a crestfallen little sigh, he could tell that the man had telepathy. It was obvious in the way his eyes would occasionally glow yellow. The boy had only the ability to communicate mentally, as it made him a more efficient messenger. He couldn't search memories, or steal hope, or anything like that. He could only 'speak' back and forth.

"You're missing some," Came the guttural voice of the man, he rarely spoke so shock filtered through the boy.

He glanced around, and felt his face heat up when he noticed all of the strewn bits of rock that were on the ground. "I'm sorry!" He squeaked, bowing and beginning to scramble with the rock basket.

The man only nodded, and mumbled under his breath, "There's no need to bow…"

But the boy wasn't listening as he too, became completely absorbed in his work. Just like the man was.

The boy looked up to the man, despite fearing him somewhat. He was smart- that was apparent in how he always managed to evade the Regulators- he was kind- after all, no one else would have defied their masters to help out a sickly child- and he was tough both mentally and physically. The boy inwardly aspired to be like him, to be strong and to help others less fortunate than himself. The man reminded the boy of the goddess he had seen so very long ago, the one that had given him a smile…

The boy hauled the rocks up with less effort than usual and he totted over to the collection point. He noticed a few of the other workers sending him disbelieving stares, surprised that he was still alive no doubt. But quickly, they returned to their own labor, realizing that distractions often led to demise in this land of eternal darkness.

The boy resisted the urge to tilt his head up proudly, amazed at his own accomplishment, because he knew it was not really him that had ensured his survival. He had been helped every step of the way by his protector. He was incredibly lucky with his circumstances, and something that could eventually grow into a smile crept up on his face.

The overseer, Miran, gave the boy a harsh look, "You're dawdling, shrimp!" He spat unkindly. "Get back to the quarry work!" There was a harsh snap of a whip by Miran's leg, indicating that soon it would be across the boy's back.

The boy's eyes widened nervously, and he increased his pace, bare, bleeding feet slapping against the dusty ground.

The man with the intense stare eyed him critically for a moment, before he sighed, "Don't let them push you around."

The boy froze in his step, "Excuse me?" He asked in a high pitch, not sure if he had heard him right.

The man gave a slight shake of his head as the tip of his pickaxe slammed into the rocks' surface, "One day, you'll see that you're much better than Regulators. Then maybe you won't be so afraid."

The boy was confused, "But we're slaves-"

"Yes," The man agreed solemnly, "But that doesn't mean we're trash."

The boy fidgeted nervously with the hem of his worn tunic that stopped just below his bony knees, "But-"

The man could sense the argument on the boy's tongue, because a flit of irritation crossed his face, "You'll understand one day." Was all he said, knowing that for now, his words wouldn't mean anything to the boy who only knew how to be subservient.

The boy shifted his meager weight between his two feet unsurely, hesitant to say anything else. To him, his life had been dictated by only one purpose- to serve those above him. Anything else was superfluous.

But…but the man had never had a master, and he still seemed to hold a purpose.

It was something to think over.

Absently, the boy went back to picking up rock chips, and he heard the repetitive grunts from the man when he reverted to his routine. There was something serene about working for no purpose, for not trying to please anyone and worrying only about his _own _needs, his own survival.

It was the closest to entitlement the boy had ever gotten. His life was his own to lose now, and it was a rather liberating sensation as the reality slowly dawned upon him day by day.

There was relative safety in the labor pits, and the boy was happy, or as close to happy as a _servus _could get.

He didn't realize that his entire world was about to yet again change drastically.

**OoO**

Screw it, it's nice to write short chapters lol. Thanks to readers and to **Batsu Simisu-Chan **for reviewing!

_Next Up: _The Debt


	11. The Servant: The Debt

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_Part Two: The Servant_

_Part Three: The Debt_

The day she came ruined everything.

He supposed he was being unfair, but the boy knew it was true. When she came, when she talked to the man, that was the day that everything changed. She made it scary, and bright, and difficult. She had looked at the boy with pity in her yellow colored eyes, had done something with her mind, and just like that, everything was ruined.

The boy, at first, was not happy.

The boy, afterwards, was forever thankful.

It had started like any other night in their cyclical existence. The man had worked, the boy had helped, and the routine was yet again commenced. There was something odd in the air, though. The way that the overseers kept whispering to each other, or how the man kept receiving odd stares from Miran, for instance.

The boy felt a bit of apprehension for his guardian and protector. With the way things were looking, it was as if a conspiracy was beginning to surround him. The boy couldn't help but worry that his only friend in this place, only friend at all really, was in terrible danger.

When he had voiced his concerns to the man, he had been rewarded with a scowl and a muttered, "Keep working. Don't act like anything is wrong."

Confusion filled him, for some reason it always did, "But you could be sent to the coliseum-"

"If we act like we know something, it will only draw more attention to us," The man said slowly, "Keep a low profile."

The boy could feel frustration filling him, and he resisted the urge to ask, no, _demand, _that the man run away or fight, but settled finally on doing what the man had asked. The man was infinitely smarter than him, he could probably take care of himself.

The boy's assertions were completely shattered when Miran walked over to the pair, "You!" He growled, a whip snapping a centimeter away from the man's head, "You're wanted in the overseers' place. Someone wants to meet you."

The boy watched with watery eyes darting back and forth between the man and the Regulator. The overseers' place was only used for receiving powerful visitors, the overseers to relax, or…for interrogations and torture.

The man gave a small sigh, and continued to work, ignoring Miran.

"Are you deaf? Drop your shit and go!" The nasty person barked, the whip actually connecting with the man's backside. The boy cringed, but the man barely even blinked.

"I'm busy, doing the labor _you _assigned," The man quipped coolly.

Miran's decomposing eyes almost shot out of their sockets, "Get your ass over there, or I'll just cart you off to the coliseums right now!"

The boy's eyes widened, and a bit of a shake acquired in his shoulders, "No!" He blurted, quickly realizing his mistake and covering his mouth with both of his hands.

Miran's attention shifted and he eyed the tiny child, "You're still alive? What the hell is this place coming to?" He growled, making another threatening motion with his whip, "The other Regulators are going to think I'm going soft if I allow such a shrimp to live."

The man gave what sounded like an aggravated sigh, and the boy winced, knowing he had utterly failed at keeping a 'low profile'. "I'll go, but only if he goes with me." He bartered casually.

Miran snorted and spit, "You're in no position to compromise."

The man rose an eyebrow calmly, "Then allow me to rephrase, the kid goes with me, or I'll ram that pickaxe through my skull and no one will get to see me at the overseers'."

The boy grimaced in pain, that sounded like a rather unpleasant process.

Miran's rotted lip quirked up in aggravation, before he hissed, "Fine! Just get your ass over there!" He jerked his thumb with such fervor that it snapped and hung limply by a tendon, the only thing still attaching it to his hand. The boy paled and his jaw dropped slightly.

He was startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, steering him towards the outpost, "Let's go." The man said softly, sending Miran a venomous look as the pair began walking.

Making sure they were out of hearing range, the boy lifted his head to stare at the man, "What do they want with us?" He whispered.

The man shook his head, "You'll be fine, whoever it is only wants to see me."

The boy frowned in protest, "Nuh uh. I'm going with." He asserted, he paused, realizing that sounded a bit too imposing, before shyly adding, "Sir."

The man groaned something in a language that the boy couldn't comprehend, before his pace slowed and he stood stock still.

The boy, noticing that something was off with the man, blinked in befuddlement, "What's wrong?"

The man's face was pale, "I feel…someone familiar."

"Your old master?" The boy pondered.

The man tried to give a reassuring smile, but failed miserably, "No. Not quite."

The overseers' place was surrounded by a thick, metal door that slowly began to lurch open. Behind it stood a large Regulator that was more repulsive than usual, gray ooze dripping off of him. The boy resisted the urge not to heave, and instead bowed low to the ground, forehead touching the dirt.

The man refused to budge, and stared at the thing before him, "You summoned me?"

The Regulator sent a disgusted look at the boy, but decided not to bring his presence up, "Zahi?" He questioned.

The man nodded half-heartedly, "Sometimes."

The Regulator snorted, gray ooze flying with the motion, "This way," He cackled, beckoning with a nonchalant wave of the hand.

The man began to follow him, stopping to pick the boy off of the ground, "Don't bow anymore." He instructed calmly.

The boy stared at him, wondering if this were some sort of poor attempt at humor.

The man sighed in frustration, "There's really no helping you sometimes," He grumbled, before walking after the large Regulator, "Let's go."

The boy only hesitated for a second, before hurrying after him.

After much walking down the musty smelling hallways, the Regulator came to an abrupt stop in front of a large entrance.

"She'll see you in here," Grunted the Regulator, dissolving into shadows after gesturing wildly at the closed, heavy wood door.

"She?" Squeaked the boy in horror. From his experience, the female Followers had always been the cruelest ones.

The man gave a sidelong glance at the boy, "Don't be afraid," He paused, a sad expression crossing his countenance for a moment, "I know her."

The boy shivered despite the man's reassurances. With trepidation, his large green eyes watched as the man carefully pushed open the doorway to the small room. The man gave another attempt at a smile to the boy before he took a step in.

"Zahi?!" Came a melodic voice in amazement, "What have they done to you!"

The boy clung to the doorframe, trying to muster up enough courage to sneak a peek at the visitor.

"Serena," Exhaled the man, and the boy noticed with awe that there seemed to be a wistful note in his words, "It's been awhile."

The boy counted to ten, before he quickly swerved on his heel and entered, immediately assuming the humble bow he had learned when addressing his master, "Pleasedon'thurthim!" The boy spoke quickly, "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

The man gaped at the boy in nothing short of amazement, and the woman who the boy still hadn't seen yet began to chuckle slightly. The noise was completely foreign to the boy, and he found himself recoiling, wondering if it was a vindictive cry of some sort.

"Stand up," He heard the man, "She isn't here to hurt us." A pause, "Are you?"

There was silence, and the boy assumed that the woman had shook her head, as the next thing he knew was being picked up by the armpit and hauled to his feet. The man looked at the boy and calmly spoke.

"This is Serena, she's a goddess."

The boy shakily turned his head and beheld the woman for the first time. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the green eyes that were so much brighter than his own, the perfect skin, the ethereal features, the only thing seeming out of place was the absence of a moon amulet around her neck. She smiled at him, and her eyes flashed yellow for a moment.

The boy gave a sharp cry, "She's one of them!" He said, before he could stop himself, tugging on the man's raggedy sleeve, "Run!" He didn't notice the wince the goddess made when he made his declaration.

The man rested a calming hand on top of the boy's head, "She's not one of them," He said quietly, "And although I don't know why she's here, I'm quite certain that she saved my life."

The woman sitting quietly at the head of the long table blinked, "What are you talking about?"

The man licked his lips and stared at the woman with a softness that the boy had never seen before in his eyes, "I doubt that Stanton decided to save me from the third Cold Fire simply because he wanted to."

The woman, really a girl, blushed prettily and stared at her clasped hands, "I wouldn't let them kill you Zahi, not after you willingly fought the urge to steal hope."

The man rose an eyebrow, "Much like I assume you're doing."

The girl, Serena, was it?, sighed heavily, "It's been hard."

"It's never going to get easier." The man replied gently, a moroseness creeping into his features, "Why did you do it? For Stanton?"

Serena seemed contemplative before she answered, "At first, yes. But then…" She paused, worrying her lip, "But then I discovered the benefit to being the Witch Goddess."

"Which is?" The man prompted.

Serena gave a half smile, and slowly stood from her chair, "I can give you back your hope, Zahi." She looked at the boy for the second time that night, "His too."

The boy blinked, yet again finding himself unable to understand, "Hope?" He murmured, the word thick and strange on his tongue.

She nodded gently, "Freedom," She reworded, "Being able to live without sadness."

The boy felt the air leave his lungs, "But…but I'm already free." He said flatly.

Serena obviously couldn't comprehend what the boy was saying, because the man interjected, his stare trained at the floor as if unable to process Serena's offer.

"Being a laborer isn't freedom. Just because you decide when you die, doesn't make you free." The man paused and stared at the boy, and he was shocked to see the feral quality absent in his dark eyes for once, "She means a life outside of Nefandus."

The boy staggered, his eyes widening to the point of saucers, "But-but we can't go there!" He said, his voice escalating in pitch, "It's forbidden! And impossible!"

"No, it isn't." The man was quiet, "It's where I came from."

The boy's jaw practically dropped to the floor, the man came from the undark place?

Serena chose this moment to kindly interrupt, "Zahi, I know I shouldn't ask you this, but I have a favor to ask of you." Her eyes seemed sad, and the boy wondered why someone like her would be sad.

The man laughed bitterly, "You could ask me to chop off my own head and I would do it gladly, Serena."

She seemed rather uncomfortable at the prospect, but cleared her throat, "I'm…" She inhaled shakily, "I'm pregnant, Zahi."

The man appeared to actually be startled, as his eyes went blank and he staggered backwards a bit. The boy stared at him in wonder, not used to seeing this side of the man.

Serena continued on, noticing that his shock had left her an opening, "And the Atrox suspects that Stanton and I are betraying it," Her bright eyes lowered to the floor, a hand drifting over her stomach, "So we…we probably won't be able to protect our child."

The man was rapidly shaking his head, greasy tendrils of hair flying into his face and making him appear crazed, "Why are you telling me this?" He demanded, and the boy noticed there was a sadness in his voice as well.

"Because I need you to protect my daughter or son," She said softly, "I can't trust anyone else."

The man gave a cry of disbelief, "You can trust _me_? The same Follower who almost crossed you over?!"

"You're not that person anymore, Zahi," Serena whispered, gaze rising to meet the man's, "If you were, you would have crossed Morgan over without any reservations."

The man looked as if he had ingested something very bitter, "How am I going to protect your child, Serena? I'm a slave, in case you've forgotten."

She licked her lips nervously, and the boy heard a strange ticking noise occurring as something clacked against her teeth, "I can give you your hope back." She almost seemed to be pleading, "And then you can escape."

"They'll know it was you who gave me it," The man argued, "You'll only be incriminating yourself more."

She shook her head, "Not if you were to hide it from the Regulators for a while," She paused, "After Stanton and I make our escape, if you were to be patient…" She trailed off and stared at the floor again, "I've given this a lot of thought, Zahi. I want you to be free and alive to guard my child. I know it's selfish, but she's the only hope I have left."

The boy's eyebrows rose, "She?"

The girl gave a weak smile to him, "We're hoping for a girl."

The boy felt ashamed for asking a question, and made the motion to bow again, but the man stopped him with his arm.

"It's almost impossible to keep track of time on this plane. We don't age, the day never comes, how would we know it was safe?" The man said, eyes narrowing, "I would do anything for you Serena, you or your daughter. But you cannot ask me to fail yet again." He paused, "If I'm going to swear to do this, I need to know I can fulfill my promise."

Serena nodded, "I've freed many Followers during my time here, with Stanton's help," She said, then noting the disbelieving expression on the man's face, "It's true. If it wasn't for Stanton I would have been discovered after my first freed Initiate." Her face fell, "But the more of them there are, the more Regulators are noticing them." She shook her head, "As much as I want to, I'm learning I can't save everyone. Some of them…" Her voice wavered, "Some of them were disposed of."

The man seemed deep in thought, "I see." He murmured, "Are they tracking _servus _as well?"

"It's likely," She seemed rather ashamed for a moment, "Especially after I freed Karyl."

The man's brow knit, as if trying to attach a name to a face, "Stanton's?"

She nodded.

There was silence, before the man looked up sadly, "What would you suggest?"

Serena gave another smile, this one stronger, "I will return your-"

"And the boy's." He interjected.

"And the boy's," She agreed quickly, "hope. Then, after we escape and the Regulators are off searching for us, it should give you an opening."

"How will we find your child?" The man posed.

Serena paused, deep in thought, before a look of enlightenment crossed her face and she pulled out a chain from underneath the fine fabric of her dress, "This." She said calmly, a large, man's ring with a purple stone embedded hanging off of it. "It's a ward against the Atrox, with it, plus the mental signature, it should be easier to find her." She fell silent.

"What if we're too late?" The man pushed, "Who is going to protect the child while we're here?"

Serena seemed to be severing her lower lip, "I'm hoping that…" She exhaled painfully slowly, "We're hoping that the current Magna Mater of the Daughters will protect her, if only for a little while."

The man's face portrayed his inner conflict, "What if she won't? Penelope of Athens-"

"It isn't Penelope anymore," Serena whispered, "She's been replaced by the reincarnation of Pandia…by my former best friend, Jimena."

"Former?" He pressed, not missing the beat.

"They tried to save me, at first. They were all so ridiculously stubborn about it, and then, Vanessa…" Serena fell silent as grief seemed to choke her, "It's all my fault, I don't blame them for hating me." Quiet fell over the room like a stifling blanket before Serena looked up and stared the man right in the eyes, "I need an answer, Zahi."

The man was quiet for a moment, but then he turned and kneeled in front of the boy, "You're involved in this as much as I am, what do _you _want?" He questioned him with gravity not befitting for him.

The boy's eyes flickered from the man's, to the girl's, and then finally to the floor. Everyone waited as the moments stretched on. The boy slowly exhaled and smiled at the man, "Let's help the pretty lately."

Serena gave a smile that lit up her face for the first time that meeting, and she glided effortlessly to the boy, her footsteps making no sounds as she leaned down, "Look me in the eyes." She instructed kindly.

The boy nodded, and he watched as her green eyes morphed yellow, then white, and finally golden.

"I'm going to give you hope now," Serena said, noticing his anxiety.

The boy gave his pathetic attempt at a smile and took a deep breath.

When he released it, his world was infinitely lighter.

**OoO**

Sorry for the really long delay in updates! I've been on an epic quests of sorts…cough.

**Up Next: **The escape from Nefandus


	12. The Servant: Escape

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_Part Two: The Servant_

_Chapter Four: Escape_

The boy was surprised when he felt a strong hand wrap around his bicep and drag him into the shadowed areas of the rock pit. Terrified, the boy bit down on the hand, preparing to scream bloody murder.

He was stopped by a reassuring, if somewhat agitated, voice in his ear, "We're leaving," Came the man, slowly releasing the boy.

The boy blinked and felt his heart thrum violently against his chest, "Leaving?" He whispered in shock, knowing the implications.

The boy knew that the date of their escape had to be approaching, the Regulators had been giving him and the man strange looks, obviously beginning to suspect that they had somehow managed to regain their long lost hope. That, combined with the rumors of the Prince of the Night and his bride deserting the world of Nefandus that had been circulating for a while now.

"Yes, are you ready?" The man asked levelly.

The boy shook his head violently.

"Good," The man said, obviously not paying attention to the boy's response, "We're going to have to out run the Regulators. Can you turn into shadow?"

The boy once again shook his head violently.

"_Maudire._" The man mumbled to himself, "I'm going to have to transform you along with me, otherwise we have no chance, _tu comprends?_"

The boy prepared to yet again shake his head, but the man's rough hands rested on each of the child's frail shoulders, "I'm going to need to you give this your all. We will either be successful, or we will die. Do you understand?"

The boy's green eyes stared into the man's brown ones, and he found himself give the tinniest of nods.

"Then let's do this," The man said with such a strong sense of conviction that the boy momentarily felt all of his fears fall away. Still, a careful hand gently tugged on the edge of the man's tunic.

"What is it?" The man asked.

"Don't leave me behind," The boy whispered somberly, staring at the ground beneath his grimy little toes.

The man was silent, but the boy felt his unruly brown hair being ruffled affectionately, "I won't leave you behind, _mon petit frere."_

The boy had no clue what he meant, but he felt comforted regardless.

"Are you ready?"

The boy smiled shakily, it was still a foreign expression with him.

"Hold on tight." The man said, picking up the small child and cradling him in his arms. The man's eyes fluttered closed and a grunt escaped his lips, as if the transformation caused him severe strain. The boy's raw, scrapped fists clenched into the fabric of the man's work clothes and his eyes widened when he saw the man's feet begin to vanish.

A heavy hand clamped over his mouth just as he was about to yelp in terror at the new sensation, and the boy realized he had almost blown their cover. The darkness that had started at the man's feet began to rise, and like a tidal wave, it quickly encompassed the pair.

The boy felt a brief queasy sensation as he began to rise above the workplace, but it was quickly replaced with awe as he surveyed the other slaves and Regulators like they were ants beneath him. There was a short moment of strange tranquility, as the boy literally felt himself rise above his old life.

But it was shortly over, as suddenly he felt himself being propelled away, and he startled despite himself. He meant to cry out, but was shocked to find that only his telepathy worked in this strange new form.

_What's going on? Where are we going?! _He demanded of his protector, a bit of panic creeping into his thoughts.

_The portal between this world and mine,_ The man responded calmly, _We're lucky, no one's noticed us ye-_

His thoughts fell short when soon two more blurs of shadows seemed to rise and conjoin in the endless night sky as well, _It appears I have spoken too soon. _The man deadpanned.

Their speed increased recklessly, the shadows zipping beneath far too quickly for the boy to register what they were, and his gaseous eyes widened when he saw an odd looking patch in the fabric of Nefandus, _Is that the…?_

_Yes. The entrance into the real world, _the man explained, his telepathy seeming more strained as the shadows pursing the pair became less and less in number, _We're almost there._

Ten meters.

One of the Regulators chasing after them broke away from the herd, his or her speed gaining velocity.

Eight meters.

The faster Regulator was joined by two more, and the boy could sense the man's weakening powers.

Five meters.

One of the three gave a telepathic yelp before crippling and falling away into the night sky.

Two meters.

The boy gave out his own cry of surprise when he realized that his and the man's forms had begun to take on more substance, the shadows starting to fall away as the man's energy became slowly drained away. They were losing altitude quickly, and the boy winced in pain when he felt his knees collide against the earth. Seconds after the sensation, he heard the man give a sigh of fatigue before his body smashed into the ground.

Because of the velocity they had been traveling, the boy started rolling, his scrawny limbs flapping around him like demented pieces of a marionette. He felt his body come to a violent stop as his back hit a larger stone painfully. Dazed, the boy coughed weakly and attempted to regain his footing, swaying and suffering intensely from vertigo.

"Mister?" He whispered in confusion, "Mister?"

He sunk to his knees and began to crawl slightly lopsided as the dizziness from his tumble overtook his sense of balance, and the boy's eyes widened when he saw a crumpled heap a few paces away from him. Quickly, he inched towards him and started to shake his shoulder.

"Mister!" He cried, pitchy voice full in effect.

The man gave a small groan of protest, but otherwise was silent. The boy, nervous and agitated, looked up and began to glance around at his surroundings with anxiety. He froze when he noticed an odd rift in the night sky, a slender opening that was otherwise unnoticeable. Through it, the boy could see something brighter, warmly beckoning to him.

His amazement faded when he realized that shadows were swirling violently around him, and one by one Regulators started to surround himself and the weakened man.

"Mister," He pleaded, shaking him with more fervor.

The man remained silent.

"What have we here?" Jeered one, a female Regulator by the looks of it. Her skin appeared to be crawling with bugs, blonde hair in grimy clumps and holding a slight green tint to it.

"Runaways," Spoke a gravely voice belonging to an older man, the boy winced when he saw a cockroach creep across his forehead.

The boy's glance went to the Regulators, then longingly rested on the small piece of sky that remained untouched. A slight halo of light hung around it, and he could feel melancholy crawl down his throat and sink to his stomach. They were _so _close! Less than half a meter…

The female Regulator from before stepped forward, her movements smooth and oiled like a well-practiced predator as her eyes glinted yellow in the darkness. "I'm going to have fun with you," She promised darkly, long black fingernails extending towards him.

The boy squeaked and tripped backwards over the man, landing on his back. From his upside down vision, he could see the sliver of freedom and briefly entertained the notion that he could outrun the Regulators.

That thought was quickly squashed when he thought of the man. The man had promised he wouldn't leave him behind, and the boy knew he couldn't leave him alone either. He winced, and knew that there was only one option.

The boy was going to have to fight all of them off. He stood up on embarrassingly shaky knees and raised his tiny fists to eye-level.

"Wassit?" Grumbled the cockroach Regulator, lifting an eyebrow, "You want to fight _servus_?"

The boy swallowed hard, and cleared his throat, "I-I'm n-n-n-ot gonna-"

"He can't even talk!" Snickered a different Regulator, this one with sallow skin and blue eyes.

The boy shook his head and said with firmer resolution, "Leave us alone!"

The only girl amongst them laughed and stared at him with an amused sort of contempt, "What are you going to do-?" Her voice dropped as her eyes widened, her face holding a stricken expression on it.

The cockroach Follower turned to her, "Cora, what-" He froze as well, "Shit." He muttered darkly, and before the boy could process anything, the Regulators began to vanish into the night sky almost as quickly as they had arrived.

The boy stood slack-jawed as he stared at his small hands in wonder. "It worked," He whispered in disbelief, before a goofy grin broke out on his face, "It worked!" He proclaimed skywards, pure ecstasy flowing through him.

Another stifled groan from the man's direction brought him down to earth, as he stopped his self-appreciation and stared at the man. The boy's resolve once again manifested itself, as he looked at the portal, to the man, and back to the portal. Coming to a decision, the boy grabbed the man under each of his arms and started hauling him backwards the last few feet to the exit.

The strain was unbearable, as the man was easily three times the boy's weight, but pure adrenaline was fueling him, and the multiple near-death experiences had numbed down any sort of terror the night had left to offer him. The man's feet dug in the earth, leaving light trenches behind them.

After much exertion, the boy finally reached the cusp between Nefandus and the lighter world. Panting heavily, he steeled his will, and braced himself as he took the final step towards freedom.

He didn't notice the figure in the shadows, whose mental energy had frightened off the Regulators and was now eying the boy with profound interest.

"So it begins," The figure whispered, watching the boy and the man vanish in a brilliant flash of light.

**OoO**

Phewy, this was unnaturally brutal for being so short!

**Up Next: **Final part of The Servant arc: the boy gets a name


	13. The Servant: Name

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_AN: _Double update! Awoo!!!one!

_Part Two: The Servant_

_Chapter Five: Name_

The sound of a little boy's scream echoed throughout the subway station, and several heads whipped around in concern. By a platform, a scrawny brunette had collapsed on the ground, arms wrapped around his head protectively as he yelled bloody murder as a train zipped passed.

Next to him was an older boy wearing a trench coat with the collar popped up. He sighed in frustration and crouched down next to the child, slowly prying his arms off of his head and murmuring reassurances.

"That's a train. We've been over this," He explained with the air of a person who had obviously said this many times before.

"Monster," Whispered the boy pathetically, but nevertheless he hesitantly stood up and hesitantly inched away from the steel flooring.

The boy was wearing a far too oversized sweater that hung loosely to his knees. The sleeves were obviously long, hiding the boy's hands. His pants trailed along on the ground, and the boy had already made a few trips over the expanse of fabric.

"You need to stop screaming, you're going to draw attention," The man said. Currently, they just looked like two homeless kids, but with the boy's obvious awkwardness and tendency to yell, they were going to stick out like sore thumbs to whoever was sent to the real world to chase after them.

After waking up in a ditch the night prior, the man had instantly took charge of the situation, stealing himself and the boy changes of clothes off of lines that hung across apartment buildings. He then managed to manipulate a real estate agent into getting them a place to live. He and the boy were heading to their new apartment, as he patiently failed to introduce the boy to all of the new things that weren't present in Nefandus.

Trains, being one of them. Cars, another. Public transportation was next to useless in a world where everyone could turn into shadow and be at their destination in an instant.

The man was obviously on edge, as he was constantly searching the crowds with a paranoid expression on his face. The boy seemed to pick up on his agitation, because he lowered his dirty head in embarrassment and fell quiet.

The metro came to lurching stop, and the compressed doors crawled open in a spastic fashion. The man nudged the boy, "Let's go."

The boy's green eyes glistened with naivety as he stared at the metro's doors, "Is this another portal?" He questioned.

The man squeezed his eyes tightly, "Yes, something like that." He settled for, grabbing the boy's hand and dragging him along before the doors slammed shut.

The compartment was packed, and the man was forced to grip a metal railing near the door for support as the metro rocketed forward. The boy stumbled into a fortunately open seat near the doorway as well, and his eyes peered over the handrail the man was gripping.

After a few seconds of staring, the man sighed, "Yes?"

The boy gave an impish grin, he was getting closer to a real smile, "Where are we going?"

The man chose his words carefully, "Where we will be staying at for a few days."

The boy blinked, "Our new master's?"

A few eavesdropping bystanders glanced warily in the man's direction.

"No," The man said quickly, "Our new…home."

"Home?" The boy tried the word out on his tongue and immediately decided that he liked it, "Where will we work?"

Yet again the man was the recipient of more than a few glares, "I'll tell you more about it when we get there."

The boy recognized the warning look in the man's eyes, for he quickly fell silent, his legs absently kicking into the air. A sense of surrealism had been in full effect ever since the Regulators had vanished last night, and the boy wasn't quite ready to accept what was happening to him as reality. He studied the man's profile, and noticed that despite the change in attire, there was nothing different about him. His eyes were still cold, his jaw still clenched, and it wasn't too hard for the boy to envision him holding a pickax crushing rocks.

The boy stared quietly at his hands, and noticed that they were taking longer than usual to heal. The work blisters hadn't healed at all, actually, and the boy was beginning to grow concerned. Sunlight had been another assault on him, and he had wandered around for three hours with his hands clasped over his eyes as they tried to adjust to the shock of color.

The train halted, and the man tapped the boy on the shoulder over the railing, "This is our stop," He said somberly, and the boy nodded, following after him.

OoO

"This can't be right!" The man exclaimed in disbelief as he gaped at the paper in his hands.

"What do you mean?" The lady - the man had called her an 'reel state aged aunt'- asked hesitantly as the man stared at something written on the document.

"This can't be the date," He whispered brokenly, his eyes wide and composure lost.

The boy sat on the ground, watching the spectacle with confusion and a bit of apprehension.

"June seventh?" The aged aunt asked carefully.

The man's mouth opened and closed a few times before he started mumbling to himself, "2022..." His jaw went slack and he slumped into a chair that was propped up against the wall of the empty apartment, "Fourteen years," He whispered somberly, shaking his head and cradling his face in his hands, "Fourteen years." He repeated again.

"Mister?" The boy murmured, and the man looked up. The boy was shocked to see a hopeless look in his dark eyes that had been absent since the goddess had freed them, "What's wrong?"

The man swallowed with difficulty, "Remember our promise to Serena?"

The boy nodded, how could he forget?

"We made that promise fourteen years ago."

The boy felt his heart rate slow, "Then…"

"Then they're all grown up," The man's unspoken worry hung in the air.

The lady cleared her throat awkwardly, "I see you're a little preoccupied, Mr…." She trailed off, a blank look in her eyes as she tried to register a name to the young man's face.

The man made eye contact with her, and suddenly comprehension dawned upon her features as a smile stretched across her face, "Enjoy your new place!" She chirped, taking the unsigned paperwork and quickly walking out, her heeled shoes echoing throughout the empty apartment as they clicked against the wooden floors.

The man looked at the boy levelly, "We may be too late." He said softly, pain laced with his words.

The boy stared dejectedly at the floor, and as the silence stretched, he cleared his throat. The man was obviously down in his spirits, and the boy was beginning to discover now that he was able to have his own opinions, he was somewhat of an optimist, "Perhaps she's safe?" He suggested hopefully.

The man exhaled harshly, hair away from his face with the action. It was quiet, but when the man spoke again, purpose seemed to be reinstated, "Perhaps," His tone was bleak, but not as pessimistic as before, "We need to prepare."

The boy slowly stood up, "Prepare for what?"

"For Regulators, for finding Serena's daughter, for the real world, the list is endless." He paused, and there was a certain glint in his eyes that portrayed astonishment, "Do you even have a name?"

The boy blinked owlishly, "Name?"

The man swallowed, "What do people call you?"

The boy was deep in thought. He knew what a name was, important people had them. But in his lifetime, names were not a casual occurrence for _servi._ His mind ran over what he had been referred to in the past, "Boy, Runt, _Servi, _Brat, Shrimp, Scrawny, Little Shit-"

"No, no," The man interrupted, resisting the urge to slam his hand against his face, "A real name." He paused, "My name was Zahi."

The boy squinted, "Was?"

He nodded, "I'm going to have to change it, it's not exactly common and neither of us can afford to attract unwanted Followers."

The boy paused, and he remembered what the man had called him once, "King?" He ventured shakily.

The man stared at him, and a wane smile crept up his stressed features, "King." He repeated in amusement.

The boy winced, was that wrong?

"My father used to tell me stories about _les chevaliers _when I was little" The man said, the smile fading as a nostalgic look grew in his eyes, "About _Le Roi Pendragon,_ and how he was a scared little boy destined for greatness, _l'épéé dans le pierre…_" He trailed off and fell silent, before his dark stare landed on the bemused boy, "Do you like the name Arthur?"

The boy mulled the name over in his mind, "Arthur?"

The man nodded.

"Arthur," The boy tried it out again, and felt something like pride in his chest, although he wasn't sure what it was directed at exactly. His small grin appeared on his face as he stared at the man, "I like it." He said with excitement.

The man's smile returned, "Good."

The boy, Arthur, felt his grin morph into a giddy smile as he stared at the floor. He held a name now, something that belonged only to him. The new sensation was intoxicating. Confusion hit him suddenly, and his gaze snapped up to the man's, "What's your name now?"

The man fell silent, his thoughts drifting elsewhere for a moment, "Call me Lance," He finally settled on quietly.

The boy nodded, enthusiasm building for this almost game. "What are we going to do now?" He asked in excitement.

The man looked him over, "_You _are going to use the shower." He paused, "Then we're going to find some sleeping bags, clothes, food, and our next residence."

Arthur felt confusion within him, "Why can't we stay here?"

The man, Lance now, shook his head, "We will have to always be on the move, for the first few months at the very least." His voice became softer, "This isn't going to be easy, we're hunted men now, and in order to fulfill our end of the bargain we're going to have to evade capture."

Arthur stilled, and he thought back to the labor pits, already seeming like a foggy memory, "I understand." He said quietly.

Lance nodded, and his stern features returned to normal, "Good. Get lots of rest, tomorrow, we begin our search for Serena's daughter."

He watched as Lance quietly walked into the next room, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.

He would be lying if he denied there being any sort of fear. This was a brand new world, after all, one that would take a considerable amount of time and adaptation to get used to. Regulators would be chasing after them nonstop, and there would be no rest until he and Lance were deemed unimportant.

Vacantly, Arthur then mused about the girl they were supposed to save. He wondered what she would be like, and whether or not she had her own special name as well.

Lance came back after only a few minutes, a sleeping bag tucked under each arm. Gingerly, he laid them on the floor, and it was only until then that Arthur realized he was tired.

With worries, and a few hopes, Arthur crawled under the polyester cover, wondering what tomorrow would have in store for him.

**OoO**

Notes:

Timelines: The NC generation of the Daughters were born in 2011, and Trysten is two years older than them, so he's going to be about thirteen when they meet up with him again.

_Les Chevaliers _is French for The Knights, and tales of King Arthur were wildly popular in France during the Middle Ages, about the same time Zahi was growing up. _Le Roi Pendragon _is The King Pendragon, an alias for Arthur. _L'épéé dans le pierre _is the sword in the stone.

**Up Next: **Part Three: The Prodigy- Gifts


	14. The Prodigy: Gifts

_Night's Children: Dum Spiro, Spero_

_AN: _Almost done :o)

Part Three: The Prodigy

Chapter One: Gifts

The early morning sunlight was filtering in through the cracks in the blinds as a boy sat behind a counter miserably chewing a bowl of Cheerios. At the table, a wiry middle-aged man was flipping through the paper, sneaking glances at the morose boy between headlines. Finally, the man sighed and set down his paper on the table, eyes resting on his son.

"Trysten, what's wrong?" He asked with a well-worn tone of fatherly concern.

Trysten scowled and took a gingerly sip of orange juice.

"Your mom made you pancakes before she went to work, you know," The man tried again, gesturing to a stack of flapjacks that had goofy smiley faces and the words 'Happy 13th!' drawn with icing on them.

His son's eyes lingered somewhat on the flapjacks, before his scowl returned in place, "I don't want them," He said, traces of a pout in his words.

The man, Jeb Hatfield, felt a smirk crawl up onto his face when he realized what this was about, "I take it you're still mad that we got you a guitar for your birthday?"

The boy's expressions flitted between anger, shame and guilt before his attention focused solely on the Cheerios again.

Jeb laughed, the crow's eyes around his fifty year old face becoming more pronounced with the action as he stood up, "Tell you what, you practice that guitar, and we'll get you that dog for Christmas." He paused and took a sip of his coffee, "Deal?"

Trysten swerved on his seat, and Jeb took a moment to observe his adopted son. Auburn hair was cut short, barely brushing the tops of his ears, and his face was still a bit chubby and boyish looking. His eyes were portraying his excitement, however, even as he mumbled out a detached, "Whatever."

Jeb inwardly chuckled, knowing that Trysten was at that age where liking your parents wasn't cool, and he slowly stood up, tucking his paper under his arm, "Well, I'm off to work," He said jovially, ruffling Trysten's hair affectionately on the way out, "Have a good birthday."

Trysten's nose wrinkled with the action, "Daaad," He groaned in exasperation as Jeb exited the Hatfield home. The boy looked around carefully, and when he realized he was all alone, he immediately scooped the Cheerios down the sink and started to dig into the flapjacks his mom had made.

---

Sneakered feet connected frantically against the pavement as boyish hands struggled to pull on his jacket while running. Having dawdled, Trysten now found himself running severely late for school. Several well-kept apartments darted by him as he sprinted down the road towards his junior high school, thankful that he was involved in track.

Trysten's eyes darted from his watch to his surroundings, and his running feet came to an abrupt halt in front of an alleyway. He skidded to a stop and eyed the intimidating alley that was surrounded on both sides by chain link fence. Across from it was the business section of his neighborhood, one that was somewhat notorious for petty crimes such as theft and vandalism.

It was also a shortcut to Trysten's school.

"Shitshitshit," Trysten muttered, as warnings from his mother echoed in his head. Although the new teenager hated to admit it, he was a bit of a momma's boy, and he found himself hesitating to break the rules she had set out for him. Finally, he rolled his eyes, "Fuck it," He mumbled as he jogged down the alley towards the busy main street.

He agilely maneuvered around several people who were walking down the crowded sidewalk, absently making sure not to bump into anyone in his rush. Despite the cool guy image he sought, Trysten was still somewhat of a walking guilt complex and didn't want to be rude despite his urgency to get to school.

However, despite his earnest attempts at agility, his foot snagged on the opposite shoe's lace, causing him to pitch forward, straight into a fellow pedestrian.

"Shit, I'm sorry-!" He apologized quickly, color flooding his cheeks as a strong, black finger nailed hand gripped his somewhat pudgy bicep, trying to balance him. Trysten, startled at the physical contact, looked up and felt his eyes go wide.

Of all people he had to almost knock over, _of course_ it happened to be the one who looked like he could easily kick the shit out of him. The man, maybe twenty something, was clad head to toe in black, a long trench coat over some sort of mesh contraption of a shirt. The sun glinted off the multiple piercings in his face, and his shaved head revealed tattoos scrawled across the scalp. Trysten swallowed hard, especially when he noticed that the stranger's eyes seemed to be staring straight into his skull. Awkwardly, he tried to tug his arm free, but the stranger's grip remained steady.

"I'm really sorry, but I have to go or I'll be late-" he blubbered quickly like the good natured thirteen year old he was.

The man's jaw had dropped slightly, and his metal eyebrows seemed to rise slightly in astonishment. "What's your name, kid?"

He froze, "Uh, Trysten." He said, too nervous to come up with a decent lie.

The man's dropped jaw transformed into a crooked little smile, "Trysten." He echoed.

The boy, having quite frankly had enough of this weirdo, quickly and harshly tugged his arm away. The man's grip went lax, and before he could process his uncanny discovery, Trysten had already started sprinting in the direction of his school.

"Trysten," he repeated again, the crooked smile becoming feral.

---

Despite the bizarre run in of his morning, the rest of the day at school drifted in a rather mundane blur. A few 'Happy Birthdays!' from his friends and the girls that liked him (there were more of the latter rather than the former), and a few reprimands for being late from his homeroom teacher. But either way, when the last bell of the day rang, he found himself very relieved to be going home.

His feet scuffled over to his locker, and he bent low, fiddling with the spin combination so he could get his homework out and leave.

"Hey, Trystie, happy birthday!" came a sing-song voice directly above him.

Trysten rolled his eyes at the unfortunate nickname, as he grunted out, "Hello Addie."

Addie was a girl his age, and secretly one of his admires. Trysten, of course, was wonderfully oblivious to this, and just thought it was weird how she was always around.

"Doing anything special tonight?" She chirped, constantly upbeat, as she nervously messed with the several jelly bracelets around her wrists, rocking back and forth on her platform boots.

Trysten shrugged, popping open the door and silently putting textbooks into his bag.

"Is that a yes or a no?" She asked cheekily, crouching down next to him.

"Probably a no," he said flatly.

"Oh. Do you _want _to do something special?" He didn't notice the hopeful tone to her voice.

Trysten just lifted his bag, "Probably not." He said, not trying to be callous, but being unfortunately blunt. He started walking towards the exit and Addie pouted, feeling a bit let down. However, she quickly seemed to change her expression, as she chased after him.

"Want to walk me home?"

Trysten rose an eyebrow in confusion, "That's out of the way."

Addie huffed, and the two exited the building side by side. Her bright green eyes roved around the campus as she walked alongside THE Trysten Hatfield, hoping that all the other girls would see and get jealous. It was one of those junior high things where it wasn't even necessarily about the boy in question, more like a competition for social standing. Her gaze widened when she saw a man standing aloofly next to the school's outdoor fountain.

"Creepy," she whispered dramatically, elbowing Trysten, "Take a look at that weirdo!"

Trysten sighed heavily, not really interested in looking at anyone, weirdo or otherwise, but he figured it'd be less effort in the end, and he froze when he saw the person who appeared to be waiting for him.

"Shit." He muttered.

Addie turned and looked at him, "What, you know him or something?" A pause, "Oh my gosh he's totally coming over here!" Unconsciously, she shuffled behind the boy.

Trysten watched as the scary man from earlier strode gracefully over to the two young teens. A slight bounce was in his step, and all that was missing was the comical whistling. Trysten froze when he realized he had quite possible antagonized a sadistic mass murderer that morning.

"Hey Trysten," he said, his voice deep and dark.

Addie's hand gripped his, but he didn't notice, being to preoccupied with fearing for his life. "…what do you want?" He ventured carefully.

"I realized I didn't introduce myself when I met you this morning," the lip quirked up again, "My name's Tymmie."

Trysten took a safe step back, Addie mimicked his motion, "I don't care. Leave me alone!" He stammered.

Addie's eyes darted between Trysten and the man, "Um, Trysten, I'll see you tomorrow. Haveagoodbirthdaycallme!" She declared quickly before fleeing the scene, presumably to call 911.

The man snorted, "You're kind of a brat, aren't you?" He scrutinized him, "It's to be expected, I suppose." He took another step closer and Trysten felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Stay away from me!" He yelled.

Tymmie laughed, and extended his index finger. Trysten flinched as it tapped gently against his forehead. Something akin to the feeling of an electric shock went through him, and his frame went rigid.

"Cute kid," Tymmie commented snidely, before going to leave, "You can find me at a place called The Fourth Wall when you need me."

And that was the last thing Trysten heard before his vision went black.


End file.
